Masks PART ONE: Insomnia Nights
by Fictatious
Summary: Drifting silently through the dimly lit halls of brushed steal, stepping softly for fear of breaking the supernatural silence, with the sound of blood rushing past their ears the loudest disturbance, they meet. COMPLETE dilfol
1. In which, uh, the story starts

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with Tenku no Escaflowne Copyright 1996-2000

Insomnia is a rather lonesome sleeping disorder. You sometimes find yourself staring at the ceiling for hours, at first wishing that sleep would come, then drifting on to the grimmest of thoughts. Those are the ones too quiet to be heard during the day, like the creaks and groans of shifting joints in the walls, cooling from the afternoon's heat. Others go wandering, strolling hallways and streets in the dark hours, not looking for anyone, but wishing desperately for some company to ward away the morbid thoughts of things darker than the night.

In the close living conditions of an air-ship, luck more easily finds two rovers in each other's company. Drifting silently through the dimly lit halls of brushed steal, stepping softly for fear of breaking the supernatural silence, with the sound of blood rushing past their ears the loudest disturbance, they meet.

They're ever reluctant to admit their unrest, but can not decline any company that presents itself. Even locked within an impenetrable steal box, irrational fear still runs high in the night. An insomniac hates to be alone.

Midnight conversation goes best with wine. Talk at this hour is subdued and slow, addressing only the most hidden and secret aspects of life. One often finds themself talking about death or suffering but rarely directly. Folken found himself talking about 'his cats', as Dilandau called them.

You speak differently at night and act differently. You wear a different mask. Dilandau was disconcertingly calm and contemplative. His eyes weren't so wide and filled with flame as during the day; they were tranquil and cool, like rubies. He spoke in a softer voice and gazed thoughtfully into his wineglass for long periods of time.

'They're in love with you,' Dilandau glanced up, studying Folken for reaction.

'They think they are,' Folken answered with no display of thought.

'You're saying they're not? Don't you think it's a bit arrogant to assume you would know better than them?' Dilandau raised an eyebrow.

Folken returned his gaze, saying after a moment, 'They're grateful to me for saving them. They feel in my debt.'

Dilandau nodded, looking back into his glass at the rich colored liquid so closely matching his eyes. 'You can deny that they love you, but not that they like you. They practically worship you. You saved their lives, you gave them new lives here, yet you take no pleasure from their company. You don't seem to take pleasure in anything. You seem sad all the time, but as though you think you ought to be. What are you punishing yourself for?'

Folken sat silently for what seemed like a long time. 'I ran away from my duty. I betrayed my country and my family. I abandoned my brother and mother when they needed me most,' he wondered why he would tell this to Dilandau, other than that the end of conversation was a terrifying prospect in the wee hours.

'And you've been paying it back to the world in general since,' Dilandau nodded again. 'How long ago was that?'

'Ten years.'

Dilandau stood from his seat and walked around to Folken's side of the small table in his room, 'Still paying for it...' he brushed his hand, bare of the usual rough, leather gloves, across Folken's face. 'But I suppose we're all in debt for something and that we'll never be able to pay back,' he sighed, startling Folken by then straddling his lap and wrapping his arms round Folken's shoulders.

'Dilandau--'

'I'm not indebted to you. I don't owe you anything. You've given me nothing but kind words. I'm not obliged to you at all. Would you believe my infatuation to be genuine?' Dilandau half whispered into Folken's neck.

Infatuation. Five syllables. Dilandau even put on a different vocabulary for him. In daylight hours he swore continuously and never let such sophistication show through. Folken idly wondered how much of Dilandau's vocabulary had been picked up listening to him.

'I'd wonder at the change of attitude. You seem rather to resent me most of the time,' Folken thought briefly that he should remove Dilandau, but couldn't muster the incentive. 'I'd also point out that there's a full decade between us.'

'I fail to see that I should be old enough to die for my country but not to be with who I want. The law sees me as an adult, can't you?' Dilandau nuzzled Folken's neck lightly, 'As for attitude, everyone has so many masks that they wear. Nobody ever acts like who they really are. You can only see a glimpse of a person when they're profoundly drunk or talking in their sleep.'

'And what are you like then?' Folken asked, vaguely bothered that he wasn't discouraging Dilandau's display of affection, but still unwilling to risk the loss of his company.

'...I cry,' Dilandau answered somewhat reluctantly. 'I don't get drunk any more. I use just enough to numb my mind.' Dilandau leaned away to look at Folken's face again, 'You said a while ago, a month or about, you were criticizing me for drinking excessively, you said drinking was just an escape from reality. That's exactly what it is.' He leaned back into Folken, wrapping his arms tighter, 'I forget I'm trapped for a little while. Everyone has their way to escape temporarily. You have yours, I have mine, they have theirs.'

'What's my escape, Dilandau?' Folken turned his head slightly to look sideways at Dilandau's silver head.

Dilandau paused a long moment, pressing his cheek closer to Folken's and seeming to debate not the answer so much as whether to say it, '...Delusion.'

Folken was quiet for a while as well, more curious than offended, though certainly quite offended. Finally he asked, his voice low and unreadable, right next to Dilandau's ear, 'And what am I deluded about?'

Again Dilandau knew the answer but didn't really want to say. Folken wondered whether it was for fear of offending him or of being sent back out into a lonely insomnia night. 'War will never beget peace,' he said, leaning away, carefully watching Folken's eyes.

A desperate longing shown in Dilandau's eyes, completing the seductive picture. His body language was enticing, his manner wistful and his words held a sophistication well beyond his years. The reluctant thought that he had never found anything so alluring crept to the front of Folken's mind. 'That's a rather hypocritic thing to say, isn't it?' he breathed, combing a hand through Dilandau's hair and feeling him shiver with pleasure.

Dilandau closed his eyes and tilted his head toward Folken's palm. 'Yes,' he whispered, 'but I don't pretend to believe in this war.'

His eyes were half-open and longing, slightly worried, trying to guess Folken's reaction. His face was almost too close to focus on, still tilted, his lips parted slightly but reluctantly unsure.

Folken closed the distance, bringing their mouths together and drawing his arm and the machine that passed for one around Dilandau's waist. Dilandau melted lustily into the embrace, his breath quickening. The kiss seemed to last for a long time but, when broken, was over all too soon.

Folken kept his eyes closed, trying to calm the beating of his heart as Dilandau lightly kissed his neck and buried his face against Folken's shoulder, sighing. Folken ran his hand across Dilandau's back to clasp over his left shoulder, catching against the clips that normally held his pretentious shoulder guards to the coat.

'Why are you here if you don't believe in it?' Folken mumbled, his cheek resting against the downy white hair above Dilandau's ear.

'I was an orphan,' Dilandau drew his face back a fraction to speak clearly. 'Orphans go to the military. I have eight more years' indenturement before I've paid back the debt of my upbringing.'

Indenturement. Where had he acquired such a vast vocabulary?

'I'm sorry,' Folken pulled his arms tighter, kissing Dilandau's earlobe.

'Don't be,' Dilandau whispered, his legs tightening about Folken's hips. 'It's not your fault and you can't do anything about it.'

'I want to.'

Dilandau drew his face back and initiated another kiss. 'Thank you,' he said when it had ended. There was another long silence as Dilandau pressed his face back against Folken's neck, his breath slightly shuddering as though he might cry. It was a comfortable silence, heavy with a sweet, shared melancholy.

'Can--' Folken had never heard Dilandau stammer before, 'Can I stay here?' It was nearing the time when Dilandau would usually wander back to his own quarters and attempt a few hours sleep before morning was fully upon him, Folken realized, looking across the room to a small wall-mounted clock near the door. 'I don't mean--' Dilandau blushed prettily and was a child again. Guilt churned in Folken's stomach. 'Unless you want to... I just want... to be near you a while longer...' before he had to change masks again, to be the killer he was supposed to be.

Ten years. Folken's mind writhed in self-disgust. Part of his mind recoiled, declaring Dilandau little more than a child. Some pinprick of logic reminded him that at fifteen he'd been sent to kill a dragon and be made responsible for the livelihood of a nation. Childhood was a luxury reserved for very few.

Still he knew he'd made a mistake, letting things go this far. Reason told him he was wishing the past conversation had never happened. Reason told him to end the indiscretion now and stop encouraging Dilandau. Reason told him to turn Dilandau out and never let this happen again. 'Yes,' he whispered against all reason.

It was the first time in months either of them had slept soundly through what was left of the night.


	2. In which Folken thinks a lot

Folken lazily pondered how such an angelic face was so often equated with demons. Dilandau's eyes were, of course, rather shocking and bewildering on first glance. But with his eyes closed in sleep, frosty lashes spread sweetly above his cheeks, his paleness and the expressionless androgyny of his features seemed so much to recall the beings of light from the legends.

His face now lay against Folken's good shoulder, wisps of fluffy white hair plastered delicately about his ear and jaw. Folken could just feel Dilandau's warm, damp breath near-silently pouring across his chest through the fabric of his shirt. His eyelids would flicker with movement now and then, but Dilandau stayed asleep, warmly nestled against Folken's side, Folken's arm cradled around his thin waist.

Folken had at first argued with himself, when he woke, that wine had likely effected his judgement in responding to Dilandau's advances the previous night. He'd tried for some time before resigning himself to the realization that he was still finding himself unexpectedly attracted to the much younger officer.

He wasn't just bothered by Dilandau's age but also by the fact that he was a man, albeit a rather effeminate one. Though he had been propositioned by quite a few men since coming to Zaibach, he'd still stayed within the more traditional gender boundaries Fanelians tended to follow. He'd grown up in Fanelia's cultural climate, but he had spend nearly his entire adult life in the more homoerotically oriented one of Zaibach. Should it really strike him as odd that he would find himself swaying to the values of his new homeland?

Still there was age. There was ten years between them, and though by Zaibach's standards Dilandau had been an adult for two years, Folken still couldn't shake the idea that he was a child. Except when he spoke. When he put on the mask he only showed Folken. When he let slip the intelligent and complicated mind behind the pugnacious façade he presented everyone else with. Folken grinned lightly, wondering whether, if Dilandau were much older, Folken would be able to keep up with the unsettling depth of philosophical thinking.

His thoughts were interrupted as Dilandau shifted slightly, blinking away the haze of sleep and snuggling himself more closely against Folken with a happy sigh. Folken felt much lighter, guilt and misgivings draining away with that sweet, contented sound. He pulled his arm tighter around Dilandau and lightly kissed his forehead.

'Good morning,' there's very few things to say more tacky or cliched, but then, while there may be a lot one can think of to say in this situation, not a lot of it seems entirely appropriate.

'Morning,' Dilandau responded in a slightly scratchy voice. 'W't time is it?'

'Quarter to five.'

Dilandau grumbled lightly. 'I gotta go,' he murmured, cold air slipping through the blankets as he drew away.

Folken pushed himself up, bringing his face level with Dilandau's. They shared another slow, lingering kiss before Dilandau stepped back into his boots and shrugged on his coat, glancing back from the door a moment before leaving. Folken sighed and gazed up at the ceiling, trying to clear his mind of a thunderstorm of thoughts.

He found himself still unable to shift his thoughts from Dilandau as he went through his day, which seemed far more monotonous than usual. He was again fretting over Dilandau's age when one of the secretarial staff commented that he seemed distracted. He wished he could brush off the nagging guilt that was eating away at him as easily as he brushed off the secretary.

The only times he was really paying attention to anything around him was when he found himself within sight of Dilandau. Their days had always overlapped here and there, they'd often been in the same room several times in a day before now, but never had it been so agonizingly apparent to Folken. He watched the natural way Dilandau talked and moved, unburdened by the unwelcome guilt, worry and longing that his mere presence was causing Folken. Folken envied the way he so easily set aside the previous night and went on with his day as though nothing had changed at all. The impatient, disagreeable and thoroughly repelling personality of his day mask was the same as ever.

This set on Folken the worry that he was reading more into what had happened than he should. Suppose the encounter was a fleeting attraction and nothing more. Suppose it was never mentioned again. That thought relieved and terrified Folken, hoping for an easy end to a relationship that shouldn't happen and trying desperately to deny that he didn't want it to end.

When night finally came, it found Folken sitting at the small table in his room, staring blankly at the door and wondering whether Dilandau would come. His eyes flicked to the clock quite often, always surprised how little it had moved. As time reached later a calm sort of panic started to nest itself in Folken's stomach.

There were two sharp, quick nocks hit the door, like every other night since they'd started spending their mutual insomnia in each other's company, just over a month earlier. Bidding enter, Folken rose from his chair, feeling awkward and unsure as he couldn't remember being in years. The door opened smoothly, unlocked as Folken had taken to leaving it for Dilandau.

That Dilandau had come opened a whole new world of worries and questions to torture Folken's mind for the few seconds before Dilandau crossed the room and curled his arms round Folken. Anxiety drained away as Folken returned the gesture, unable to remember any of the reasons he shouldn't.

The joints in the armor of Dilandau's boots creaked quietly as his heels settled back to the floor after a kiss. The gentle exhale of breath as he closed his eyes and buried his face in Folken's chest expressed so much relief and reassurance from the nervous agitation he'd been stewing in as well.

There was silence for a time as they both hoped the other would speak first. Folken finally whispered just above Dilandau's ear, 'All day I've thought of nothing but how wrong it is for me to feel about you like this. But when I'm holding you, I can't _make_ myself care. All I care about right now is you.'

Dilandau's eyes shown brightly and he blinked fast, a smile of absolute joy across his lips. He dipped his head as tears began to win the battle.

Folken caught his chin, lifting his head back up and saying 'Let me see your smile.'

Dilandau flushed.

'You've never been more beautiful,' Folken whispered and kissed him again.

Failing to suppress a sob, Dilandau mumbled weakly, 'I was afraid you'd be upset and wouldn't want to see me any more. I was almost too afraid to come.'

Folken was about to protest that he never would, but recalled that he had spent so much of the day trying to find a way to isolate himself from Dilandau, to keep from letting a relationship go on between them. He ran his hand tenderly through Dilandau's hair and then kissed him again. 'I can't. I can't even pretend I don't want you.'


	3. In which Siorenya falls in flames

Folken shuddered, trying to block out the sounds and images of Siorenya being wiped from the face of Gaea. The monitors to his right showed the views from cameras mounted outside the Vione, looking down on the slaughterfield as well as those that had been built into the guymelef units. Buildings were engulfed in flame and tiny people were desperately fleeing the city, trying to escape with their most valued things.

A horrible, soulless cackle rang across the intercom again. Folken shut his eyes, feeling sick as he listened to Dilandau's voice call a brief order and one of the Slayers chime back. The sounds of destruction continued, crumbling buildings, roaring flames and thick, ancient timbers snapping like rotten twigs.

A muttered, angry swear made Folken open his eyes again. He focussed quickly back on Dilandau's monitor, seeing a miniscule figure there, crouched under a pile of burning wreckage from a collapsing building. The debris was held off the child by a cage of liquid metal. It was impossible to see any details, or even make out a face for the little person, but it could be seen to look up and around frantically before bolting off down the ruined road beyond.

One of the bridge officers near Folken, the one that had sworn, grabbed a mic and shouted into it, 'I'm reporting _that_, Dilandau!'

'Fuck off,' Dilandau's voice bit back with a slight echo off the metal interior of his cockpit.

'You're wasting your time! That place should be flattened by now!'

'_You're_ wasting my time, _Beng!_ Fuck off, I _know_ what I'm doing,' Dilandau's voice was angry and had an edge of embarrassment to it.

'You don't--' Beng started.

'You _fucking_ brown-noser! Just _fuck off!_' Dilandau outright shouted, 'Report whatever you _want_ but _shut_ your _fucking_ mouth and let me demolish here!'

Beng looked annoyed and rather self conscious of the many other officers on the bridge raising eyebrows at him, but had a smugness to his air as he sat back to watch for Dilandau to make any other slips.

He found nothing else as the razing was almost at an end anyway. Within the hour the guymelefs were back in the hanger and the report on the destruction of Siorenya being sent back to the capitol. Oddly enough, Officer Beng would find his eye rather swollen and discolored by evening, which he was resolutely ignoring.

Dilandau managed the impressive feat of being paler than usual when he drifted into Folken's room looking rather drained and desolate that night. There was a very slight trembling to his whole frame that Folken could only detect when Dilandau was nestled closely against him in bed, arms clasped round him in a desperate, clinging way.

'How do you do that?' Folken asked, again marveling at the turn-around of Dilandau's whole outward character.

'What?' Dilandau's voice was muffled and vaguely strained.

'How can you be exactly who you need to all the time, no matter how much it hurts you?' Folken gazed down at Dilandau's closed eyes, the silver brow above slightly furrowed in agitation.

'Being two-faced is a skill, I guess,' Dilandau made a movement something like a shrug. 'If I don't do what they want, I'll just get dropped down in the ranks. I find life's more comfortable as a commanding officer.'

'No doubt,' Folken murmured, kissing his forehead. 'It's just so hard to see how you can be so effected now by that fight and seemed to delight in it this morning.'

'It wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter,' Dilandau corrected stonily. 'It's stupid and pointless. Assimilation can work; the empire may only last as long as Emperor Dornkirk, but it would work for a little while. These massacres will only fuel the resistance against us.'

'How did you get so smart?'

'Paying attention.' Dilandau sighed with a bitter tone, 'History all seems to go in cycles... Just the same things over and over...'

'And what's going to happen now?' Folken asked curiously.

'The empire's going to crumble,' there was a long pause before he added, '... like Atlantis.'

'But you still play along,' Folken noted placidly.

'I'm indentured. I don't just get discharged if I don't do what they want; I get incarcerated,' Dilandau grimaced. 'And of course if I should desert, _that's_ a trip to the gallows.'

Folken tightened his arm around Dilandau and shuddered, 'The system could use some work.'

'It could,' Dilandau agreed, 'but there's not a lot I can do about that now. I just do what they tell me and try to stay alive 'til I'm twenty-three.'

Folken's face twitched slightly, reminded again of the age gap. 'You're a remarkably good sport,' he commented.

'It's just like playacting,' Dilandau mused. 'I just have to act well enough to fool myself and I can be whoever they want.'

'You're amazing.'

'I'm a heartless bastard,' Dilandau corrected.

'No you're not,' Folken said and kissed him. 'I watched you save that child today.'

Dilandau smiled briefly and then grimaced, 'Beng's an ass.'

Folken chuckled, 'I noticed. Why is he out to get you?'

'I turned him down.'

'Ah,' Folken nodded. 'Did you give him the black eye?'

'No, I think it was Dallet,' Dilandau grinned. 'He's been too pleased with himself today and I was starting to wonder who he'd killed 'til I saw Beng.'

The trembling had gone from Dilandau's body, but there was still a tense weariness to his manner that lasted until he fell asleep. Folken was awoken once by Dilandau mumbling and whimpering in his sleep. Crying, just like he'd said.


	4. In which there is yelling

Dilandau could tell when he walked in the room that Folken was pissed. He chewed his lip, annoyed that he didn't know why. Likely he'd shown too much zeal in destroying Fanelia; Folken tended to get upset about that sort of thing. Still it was terribly unfair of Folken to be angry with him for doing what he was told.

Folken's hands were woven under his chin, elbows on the table as he watched Dilandau come in. There was something sad and far away in his eyes and a cloud of depression surrounded him. But there was also anger, a roiling, unfocussed anger that would flicker on his features for just a moment before being swept away.

'What's wrong?' Dilandau asked in a quiet, closed voice, feeling queasy and unhappy as mass slaughter tended to make him.

'That was a brutal attack.'

'They all are,' Dilandau shrugged. Folken didn't say anything. 'What?' Dilandau demanded, feeling rather sharp and disagreeable. He really had every right to be, having been on duty for almost thirty-six hours due to the Dragon's disappearance.

Folken gazed into space a while before saying, 'I was born in Fanelia.'

'Oh,' Dilandau looked at the ground and chewed his lip. 'I thought you were the one to plan the attack.'

'I was,' Folken nodded. 'After a fashion.'

'So--'

'I didn't plan it to be a slaughter,' Folken looked coldly at Dilandau making his stomach sink.

'There really weren't very many people killed,' Dilandau faltered, feeling shaken and distressed by the icy anger Folken was directing at him. 'Just military... The townies all went up into the hills...'

'The city wasn't even supposed to be leveled! It was a surgical strike to capture the Dragon!' Folken was near shouting.

Dilandau felt like crying. 'My orders were to destroy everything man-made,' his voice shook.

Folken stood and whirled, his cloak swirling about him as he started to pace angrily.

Pain at Folken's accusing manner turned abruptly to rage and set Dilandau shouting, shaking loose a few tears, 'Stop blaming _me!_ _I_ have no _say_ in what _happens_ around here! You're mad at _yourself_ so stop _taking it out _on_ me!_'

Folken stared at him for a long time as Dilandau stood there trying to staunch his tears. He'd just decided to flee when Folken lowered his eyes and apologized.

'You're right,' he said, 'I'm sorry.'

'Me too,' Dilandau wiped his sleeve across his eyes in a vain effort to dry them.

'You shouldn't be,' Folken moved back across the room to Dilandau.

'For yelling,' Dilandau elaborated, leaning against Folken and trying to regain control of his breathing.

He relaxed, happily submitting to the shower of apologies, kisses and compliments. Several layers of garb and a passionate tryst later, Dilandau fell asleep cozily next to Folken for the last time.


	5. In which things start going down hill

Dilandau didn't bother to hide his irritation as he jumped down from his Alseides and gave Folken a brusque nod in greeting. He was still angry and offended that Folken had reprimanded him over the intercoms for rough treatment of his captive. Nobody ever questioned his methods when he was being over-aggressive and Folken rarely questioned anyone, which added to the embarrassment.

'Has the Crusade been brought down?' Folken asked.

Dilandau flushed and answered between gritted teeth, 'No, but I've sent out search and destroy teams after it.'

'You risked being seen, and were, to complete your objective. Even with the Crusade destroyed there's the possibility that they might have sent a messenger out which would ruin our anonymity,' Folken didn't look at Dilandau once as he spoke. Again Dilandau was starting to feel himself being given blame for Folken's conflicting patriotisms and it was making him want to shake Folken.

'I realize that,' Dilandau snapped. 'My Slayers are also looking for messengers and, to make any decent time at all, such a messenger would have to be riding and therefor staying to the roads. They'll be found. There are few places to hide in that wilderness and they can't return to their homeland. There's no reason for us to hide here anymore.'

'Carelessness won't be tolerated. We wait for your men to report,' Folken still didn't turn his gaze from strait ahead of him as Dilandau shot him a dirty look.

'Ever the cautious type,' Dilandau sulked, fury mounting as Folken continued to ignore him. They paused at the base of the stairs leading to the stand the Escaflowne had been placed in. Folken looked at it with something like regret playing across his features. 'Anyway,' Dilandau started again, standing closer to Folken, trying to catch his eye, 'Zaibach's future is secure now, right? This heap can't go messing up Lord Dornkirk's machine. Let's just pull the pilot out and destroy the thing.'

'I can't allow that,' Folken said, climbing the clanky, metal stairs, still not making eye contact.

'Why?'

'Because we don't yet understand why this machine is a threat to the future,' Folken came to a stop in front of the energist case, looking into the feint beating, so reminiscent of a heart.

He may have been talking to Dilandau, but he was still almost entirely ignoring his presence. A chilling despair was creeping over Dilandau, though he took care to show no outward sign of it. He had the feeling that there was far more to this than Folken had said, more than just having come from Fanelia originally. He knew something deeper, some inner workings, and wouldn't say.

Folken raised his left hand to the energist case and it glowed a brilliant pink-red. For no apparent reason, the machine unfolded itself, spitting a short, raven-haired youth to the floor. Dilandau missed Folken's reaction, recognition and anger overwhelming his senses.

'This little shit?' he grimaced, furious with himself for not paying more attention to the boy when he'd first insulted Dilandau in Costello Fort.

Folken nodded with a grim smile, 'The new king of Fanelia. Van.'

'What is he, twelve?' Dilandau scoffed.

'That's a bit cruel, Dilandau,' Folken said placidly, crouching and scooping Van carefully into his arms. 'He's as old as you.'

'So just a midget then...' Dilandau's voice trailed off into silence as he watched Folken lift and carry the unconscious captive, cradled caringly against him, away from the abandoned guymelef which was supposed to be the reason for capture in the first place.

'What are you going to do with him?' Dilandau's voice was quiet and small, betraying apprehension.

Folken finally looked at him, an eyebrow raised, taking in Dilandau's confusion and mistrust. 'Lock him up. What did you think?' Folken asked, his face stony and unreadable.

'Who is he?'

'The king of Fanelia. I told you,' Folken turned and continued down the stairs and out of the hanger.

Dilandau trailed after him, following to an empty stateroom near the side of the Vione still under construction. Folken laid the kinglett tenderly on the bed and pried open his eyelids, concerned by the concussion.

'Why are we keeping him?' Dilandau demanded, his voice shriller than it should have been. 'Fanelia's a minor country at best. It's not as though its king would be of any political value to anyone but the kingdom itself, which, I remind you is gone. Keeping him alive just risks him escaping. Nostalgia is not worth that risk, Folken.'

Folken turned back to Dilandau, cold fury whispered in his features, 'Are you lecturing me?'

Dilandau froze, never having experienced a glare like that from Folken. A knot rose in his throat and his hands shook. 'Why are you mad at me?' he whispered.

Folken looked slightly startled, then ashamed, turning his eyes to the ground. 'I'm not mad at you,' he said in a softer voice.

'Well you're sure _acting_ like it!' Dilandau accused.

'I'm sorry,' Folken said, sweeping across the floor and pulling Dilandau into a hug. 'I'm having trouble with all this... Fanelia and everything... I don't mean to take it out on you. I'm sorry.' Dilandau nodded and Folken suggested, petting his hair 'Go eat something. Get some rest.'

Dilandau nodded again, retreating slowly to the dim halls and off to the mess. Folken wasn't in his room when Dilandau went to look and he ended up falling asleep on a couch in the Dragon Slayers' common room. This left him rather sore and stiff when he woke, and rather with a headache from being half bent over the arm of it.

A hot drink solved the headache but he was still feeling rather less than his best as he wandered about with nothing really to do. He found himself in the hanger after a time, staring curiously up at the strange guymelef, wondering about it.

'How is this a threat to the empire? It's just an _antique_,' he mused, looking it over. He realized with a fair amount of embarrassment that he must be feeling particularly lonesome to be talking aloud to himself as though addressing a second person. He tried to pull his thoughts away from following that train, distracting himself with another question about the mysterious machine, 'How did Folken know to work it?'

Surely knowing the inner-workings of a royal heirloom wouldn't be common knowledge, but then, who knew with a backward, little, dragon-infested speck like that country. He tapped his hand against the energist case, wondering if there was something more to it than that. The light within did change as it had when Folken opened it, but rather than the warm glow it had given then, it swirled with shadows.

Suddenly very nervous, Dilandau made to pull his hand away, but it seemed now trapped against the crystalline surface. The shadows swirled faster, the color of the whole thing turning a dark, blood red and then darker and seeming to pull everything toward it. Dilandau stared, terror heightening as it sucked him into the horrible abyss beyond, seeming to churn and boil viscously. His fingers started to dip through the surface of what should have been stone and he screamed, clamping his other hand around that wrist and pulling away from the mechanical monster.

Then it exploded.

Dilandau found himself on the floor below the platform he'd been standing on, not quite able to remember arriving there. Smoke was everywhere. A terrible, rusty smell filled the hanger as well as the powerful jangling of alarm bells. Dilandau lay still, breath short from hitting the ground, and his whole body aching.

He wasn't sure how long he was lying there, there was still quite a bit of smoke, but the alarms had been stopped when he heard running feet along the metal floor. He paid little attention until Folken's voice cut through, reverberating slightly in the enormous, open space. He was calling at Van; that was what he'd called the Fanelian king, Dilandau recalled, pushing himself up and choking slightly on the foul smoke.

'Brother!' yelled the obnoxious voice of the little noble.

Dilandau almost fell over again in shock. He listened to the rest of the brief conversation and realized that Folken was making no effort to stop the boy who had called him brother. Was it true then? What else would make Folken ignore all duty to the empire and allow the prisoner to escape, but the family ties and guilt that so often troubled him?

Folken could be heard leaving and suddenly Dilandau wanted nothing so much in the world as to kill the wretched creature that had caused Folken so much pain. Perhaps the fall was effecting his thinking and perhaps it was the sudden dread of the guymelef that Van piloted, but Dilandau knew he had to kill the horrible little king.

The smoke and shadows gave him cover until he was within ten feet of Van. Ignoring the slight stagger to his step and dizziness his head swam with, he broke into a run, drawing his sword and bringing it down heavily, strait for Van's head. He hit only his enemy's sword, still in its sheath, startled opponent holding it high and away from himself in both hands.

'I should have killed you back there,' Dilandau panted lashing out another blow. He felt his movements were too slow and erratic, even as he attacked. Van was fighting terribly and not loosing any ground. He wished again that he hadn't gone near that hellish guymelef.

He felt a shock of pain and watched Van's sword (where had he gotten a sword?) come away from his head with blood on it. He froze, knowing he was dead. He shook, bringing a hand to his face, wondering if it was really still there, wondering how deep the sword had gone.

His gloved fingers couldn't feel anything but the slickness of the blood that he watched dripping to the ground. He crumpled to his knees, breathing fast and hysterical, screaming.

Van and that girl were running away. Van wasn't bothering to finish the job, so it must already be done. _I'm dead! I'm dead! Oh gods! I'm dead!_ He screamed again, crumpling further to the ground.

'My face...' he whimpered. He'd be all laid-open at the funeral. He sobbed hysterically, the least he could have asked for was his killer to leave him recognizable. 'My beautiful face...'

He watched the Dragon fly away, out of the hanger, off to somewhere, and lay on the cold floor. It wasn't long before he was found there, sobbing into a small pool of blood, hair all plastered redly against his skin. It took the handful of Slayers that found him a much longer time to convince him he wasn't dead. He was still unsure as his face was being carefully washed and stitched shut, and had another bout of hysteria when the anesthetics left him numb and cold and sure again that he was dead.


	6. In which Dilandau cries

Dilandau didn't bother to hide his irritation as he jumped down from his Alseides and gave Folken a brusque nod in greeting. He was still angry and offended that Folken had reprimanded him over the intercoms for rough treatment of his captive. Nobody ever questioned his methods when he was being over-aggressive and Folken rarely questioned anyone, which added to the embarrassment.

'Has the Crusade been brought down?' Folken asked.

Dilandau flushed and answered between gritted teeth, 'No, but I've sent out search and destroy teams after it.'

'You risked being seen, and were, to complete your objective. Even with the Crusade destroyed there's the possibility that they might have sent a messenger out which would ruin our anonymity,' Folken didn't look at Dilandau once as he spoke. Again Dilandau was starting to feel himself being given blame for Folken's conflicting patriotisms and it was making him want to shake Folken.

'I realize that,' Dilandau snapped. 'My Slayers are also looking for messengers and, to make any decent time at all, such a messenger would have to be riding and therefor staying to the roads. They'll be found. There are few places to hide in that wilderness and they can't return to their homeland. There's no reason for us to hide here anymore.'

'Carelessness won't be tolerated. We wait for your men to report,' Folken still didn't turn his gaze from strait ahead of him as Dilandau shot him a dirty look.

'Ever the cautious type,' Dilandau sulked, fury mounting as Folken continued to ignore him. They paused at the base of the stairs leading to the stand the Escaflowne had been placed in. Folken looked at it with something like regret playing across his features. 'Anyway,' Dilandau started again, standing closer to Folken, trying to catch his eye, 'Zaibach's future is secure now, right? This heap can't go messing up Lord Dornkirk's machine. Let's just pull the pilot out and destroy the thing.'

'I can't allow that,' Folken said, climbing the clanky, metal stairs, still not making eye contact.

'Why?'

'Because we don't yet understand why this machine is a threat to the future,' Folken came to a stop in front of the energist case, looking into the feint beating, so reminiscent of a heart.

He may have been talking to Dilandau, but he was still almost entirely ignoring his presence. A chilling despair was creeping over Dilandau, though he took care to show no outward sign of it. He had the feeling that there was far more to this than Folken had said, more than just having come from Fanelia originally. He knew something deeper, some inner workings, and wouldn't say.

Folken raised his left hand to the energist case and it glowed a brilliant pink-red. For no apparent reason, the machine unfolded itself, spitting a short, raven-haired youth to the floor. Dilandau missed Folken's reaction, recognition and anger overwhelming his senses.

'This little shit?' he grimaced, furious with himself for not paying more attention to the boy when he'd first insulted Dilandau in Costello Fort.

Folken nodded with a grim smile, 'The new king of Fanelia. Van.'

'What is he, twelve?' Dilandau scoffed.

'That's a bit cruel, Dilandau,' Folken said placidly, crouching and scooping Van carefully into his arms. 'He's as old as you.'

'So just a midget then...' Dilandau's voice trailed off into silence as he watched Folken lift and carry the unconscious captive, cradled caringly against him, away from the abandoned guymelef which was supposed to be the reason for capture in the first place.

'What are you going to do with him?' Dilandau's voice was quiet and small, betraying apprehension.

Folken finally looked at him, an eyebrow raised, taking in Dilandau's confusion and mistrust. 'Lock him up. What did you think?' Folken asked, his face stony and unreadable.

'Who is he?'

'The king of Fanelia. I told you,' Folken turned and continued down the stairs and out of the hanger.

Dilandau trailed after him, following to an empty stateroom near the side of the Vione still under construction. Folken laid the kinglett tenderly on the bed and pried open his eyelids, concerned by the concussion.

'Why are we keeping him?' Dilandau demanded, his voice shriller than it should have been. 'Fanelia's a minor country at best. It's not as though its king would be of any political value to anyone but the kingdom itself, which, I remind you is gone. Keeping him alive just risks him escaping. Nostalgia is not worth that risk, Folken.'

Folken turned back to Dilandau, cold fury whispered in his features, 'Are you lecturing me?'

Dilandau froze, never having experienced a glare like that from Folken. A knot rose in his throat and his hands shook. 'Why are you mad at me?' he whispered.

Folken looked slightly startled, then ashamed, turning his eyes to the ground. 'I'm not mad at you,' he said in a softer voice.

'Well you're sure _acting_ like it!' Dilandau accused.

'I'm sorry,' Folken said, sweeping across the floor and pulling Dilandau into a hug. 'I'm having trouble with all this... Fanelia and everything... I don't mean to take it out on you. I'm sorry.' Dilandau nodded and Folken suggested, petting his hair 'Go eat something. Get some rest.'

Dilandau nodded again, retreating slowly to the dim halls and off to the mess. Folken wasn't in his room when Dilandau went to look and he ended up falling asleep on a couch in the Dragon Slayers' common room. This left him rather sore and stiff when he woke, and rather with a headache from being half bent over the arm of it.

A hot drink solved the headache but he was still feeling rather less than his best as he wandered about with nothing really to do. He found himself in the hanger after a time, staring curiously up at the strange guymelef, wondering about it.

'How is this a threat to the empire? It's just an _antique_,' he mused, looking it over. He realized with a fair amount of embarrassment that he must be feeling particularly lonesome to be talking aloud to himself as though addressing a second person. He tried to pull his thoughts away from following that train, distracting himself with another question about the mysterious machine, 'How did Folken know to work it?'

Surely knowing the inner-workings of a royal heirloom wouldn't be common knowledge, but then, who knew with a backward, little, dragon-infested speck like that country. He tapped his hand against the energist case, wondering if there was something more to it than that. The light within did change as it had when Folken opened it, but rather than the warm glow it had given then, it swirled with shadows.

Suddenly very nervous, Dilandau made to pull his hand away, but it seemed now trapped against the crystalline surface. The shadows swirled faster, the color of the whole thing turning a dark, blood red and then darker and seeming to pull everything toward it. Dilandau stared, terror heightening as it sucked him into the horrible abyss beyond, seeming to churn and boil viscously. His fingers started to dip through the surface of what should have been stone and he screamed, clamping his other hand around that wrist and pulling away from the mechanical monster.

Then it exploded.

Dilandau found himself on the floor below the platform he'd been standing on, not quite able to remember arriving there. Smoke was everywhere. A terrible, rusty smell filled the hanger as well as the powerful jangling of alarm bells. Dilandau lay still, breath short from hitting the ground, and his whole body aching.

He wasn't sure how long he was lying there, there was still quite a bit of smoke, but the alarms had been stopped when he heard running feet along the metal floor. He paid little attention until Folken's voice cut through, reverberating slightly in the enormous, open space. He was calling at Van; that was what he'd called the Fanelian king, Dilandau recalled, pushing himself up and choking slightly on the foul smoke.

'Brother!' yelled the obnoxious voice of the little noble.

Dilandau almost fell over again in shock. He listened to the rest of the brief conversation and realized that Folken was making no effort to stop the boy who had called him brother. Was it true then? What else would make Folken ignore all duty to the empire and allow the prisoner to escape, but the family ties and guilt that so often troubled him?

Folken could be heard leaving and suddenly Dilandau wanted nothing so much in the world as to kill the wretched creature that had caused Folken so much pain. Perhaps the fall was effecting his thinking and perhaps it was the sudden dread of the guymelef that Van piloted, but Dilandau knew he had to kill the horrible little king.

The smoke and shadows gave him cover until he was within ten feet of Van. Ignoring the slight stagger to his step and dizziness his head swam with, he broke into a run, drawing his sword and bringing it down heavily, strait for Van's head. He hit only his enemy's sword, still in its sheath, startled opponent holding it high and away from himself in both hands.

'I should have killed you back there,' Dilandau panted lashing out another blow. He felt his movements were too slow and erratic, even as he attacked. Van was fighting terribly and not loosing any ground. He wished again that he hadn't gone near that hellish guymelef.

He felt a shock of pain and watched Van's sword (where had he gotten a sword?) come away from his head with blood on it. He froze, knowing he was dead. He shook, bringing a hand to his face, wondering if it was really still there, wondering how deep the sword had gone.

His gloved fingers couldn't feel anything but the slickness of the blood that he watched dripping to the ground. He crumpled to his knees, breathing fast and hysterical, screaming.

Van and that girl were running away. Van wasn't bothering to finish the job, so it must already be done. _I'm dead! I'm dead! Oh gods! I'm dead!_ He screamed again, crumpling further to the ground.

'My face...' he whimpered. He'd be all laid-open at the funeral. He sobbed hysterically, the least he could have asked for was his killer to leave him recognizable. 'My beautiful face...'

He watched the Dragon fly away, out of the hanger, off to somewhere, and lay on the cold floor. It wasn't long before he was found there, sobbing into a small pool of blood, hair all plastered redly against his skin. It took the handful of Slayers that found him a much longer time to convince him he wasn't dead. He was still unsure as his face was being carefully washed and stitched shut, and had another bout of hysteria when the anesthetics left him numb and cold and sure again that he was dead.


	7. In which Folken gets punched

A handful of Dragon Slayers were standing round the wreck of Dilandau's Alseides, by this time joking and being terribly impressed and amused by it's combustion. It really was rather impressive that Dilandau had managed to break it so spectacularly, but Folken was too angry to pay much attention to that.

'Dilandau!' he shouted, storming across the hanger from his transport ship. 'What the _hell_ did you think you were _doing?_'

Dilandau turned, swallowing a laugh and taking a minute to regain composure. 'I... Oh yeah! I was going to kill little Van.'

Through gritted teeth Folken responded, 'You were ordered--'

'--to stay on the Vione, which I did,' Dilandau grinned smugly. 'Didn't work out very well anyway, but I did learn how to break an Alseides pretty well,' he grinned amusedly and there were a few stifled laughs from Slayers.

Folken could see that Dilandau was vaguely tipsy, whether from alcohol or the prescribed anesthetics he had been given in an attempt to keep him from touching his face, was hard to tell. This upset Folken more, as Dilandau had been in a clear state of mind during the previous night's fight and it was likely that that had driven him to inhibit himself so. He sustained injury not uncommonly and normally refused the painkillers pushed at him.

Even as he though he ought to be shouting at the physician that gave Dilandau whatever he was on, he felt a new surge of anger for the attack. There was no excuse for the attempted murder, which had been explicitly against orders in the first place.

'Just because you _failed_ doesn't make your actions _any_ less _insubordinate!_' Folken fumed, further annoyed by how little control he was having over his tone of voice. He hated to publicly show this much emotion.

Dilandau winced slightly on the word 'failed' and lost the silliness of a few moments earlier in favor of outrage. 'He _should_ have been killed in the _first place!_ You've _no right_ to be _protecting him_ like this, even if he _is_ your _brother!_ You _can't _be on _both sides_, Folken!' Dilandau spat, matching Folken's glare with his own.

'That's _not_ the _point!_' Folken flushed irately, not wanting to admit how right Dilandau was.

'YES IT IS!' Dilandau screamed, stamping his foot in emphasis.

'_You've_ no right to be making that kind of _decision!_' Folken countered, trying to back away from his link to Van.

'I _HATE_ HIM!' Dilandau completely gave up on arguing properly.

'WHY?' Folken demanded, likewise stepping outside the official fight.

Dilandau's head lowered slightly, hair falling across his face and obscuring the expression. His shoulders shook and that shaking was audible in his voice when he answered in a closed, much quieter voice, 'Because you love him more than me.'

In the heat of anger, you only want to hurt. Every rational thought takes backseat to the need to lash out and spread your pain. The things one says when they're angry are the ones they remember the longest and try the hardest to forget.

'When did I ever say I loved you?' Folken snapped back, instantly regretting it. They never had exchanged such sentiments. It had always seemed to Folken rather crass and narcissistic. The words always obligated their return. It was burdensome and unfair to so obligate. And that all worked nicely into an emotional weapon at the moment, which karmatically enough left them both feeling miserable.

Dilandau answered in a hollow, desolate whisper that was filled with more pain than really seemed possible for two short words, '...You didn't.'

Folken opened his mouth to speak, to say something to take it back, but couldn't find anything to possibly say. The problem of communication was abruptly ended with a fist slamming into Folken's jaw and making him stumble sideways in an attempt not to sprawl across the floor. It was accompanied by a cry of 'SON OF A BlTCH!'

Folken blinked in astonishment at the Slayer who was now spewing a torrent of curses and insults at him. Behind him was another hissing vicious and rather graphic threats, hands poised at his sword. A multitude of glares hit him like a wall of hatred.

'_Shut up!_' Dilandau shouted, his voice still crushed and unnatural.

The Slayers' voices cut out obediently. They cast worried glances at Dilandau. He turned without further comment and fled from the hanger, Dragon Slayers trailing after him with a few glares and insults slung back at Folken.

Folken stood there alone for a very long time, staring into space and finding it difficult to breath. He wished over and over that it hadn't happened. His stomach seemed to have gone missing. He couldn't remember ever wanting to disappear, fall into a bottomless pit or just die on the spot, so much as at that moment.


	8. Which is very long and mostly reflection

_Dilandau tipped a glass of wine back and forth in his hand, letting the brilliant red contense lap close to the edges but never spill. 'I hate my eyes,' he said conversationally after a while._

_'Why?' Folken asked with a surprised look._

_'And my hair...'_

_'Why?'_

_Dilandau shifted uncomfortably, trying to form his complaint into words. 'I look so odd...'_

_'You're beautiful,' Folken noted in a matter of fact way._

_'I know that,' Dilandau frowned unhappily, 'and it irritates me to no end.'_

_Folken studied him for a while, consideringly, 'You do get quite a bit of harassment, don't you?'_

_Grimacing, Dilandau nodded, 'Since well before such advances were anything like appropriate.'_

_'Rumor has it you cut off your superior officer's hand when you were ten,' Folken more asked than commented._

_'Rumor has a lot of things,' Dilandau shrugged. A slight grin pulled at his lips, 'I was eleven and it was only a few fingers.'_

_Folken chuckled, having narrowly avoided choking on a sip of wine._

_A wide, amused grin found its way to Dilandau's mouth, 'Why, Folken! You never struck me as one to appreciate black humor!'_

_'Timing is everything. It takes far more wit than most people posses to make humorous,' Folken answered, a light-hearted cheer in his eyes, and stroked his hand affectionately through Dilandau's hair._

_Dilandau's eyes fluttered shut and he smiled serenely, melting, as always, at Folken's touch. He almost whispered then three words thoroughly inadequate to describe the depth of comfort and joy Folken's mere presence gave him, but hesitated, refrained._ He never said how greatly he cared for Folken, for fear of the words not being returned, for fear of ruining the sweet, perfect moments at which it would have been appropriate to say.

And now everything was ruined.

Dilandau shook with quiet sobs like shuddering breaths. He was in a loose fetal ball with his shoulders curled in and his chin tucked close to his chest. Making this particularly awkward was the fact that he was still wearing his armor. The left shoulder-guard pressed painfully against his face and his boots caught against each other and made his ankles hurt.

He'd managed to lock himself in his room, a place he'd spent little time in recent months, before collapsing into hysterical tears. He'd crumpled against the door for a while then tipped over, somewhat sprawling, somewhat curling on the icy floor. He couldn't muster the caring to move the few feet to his bed, despite the way his extremities ached and prickled in protest.

Memories have an odd, eccentric flow when one's in despair, connected in a way that seems disconnected and spinning about backwards. At these times it often seems that memories are the only company one has. Everything you've done wrong and everything you thought you'd done right that's lead you to the miserable state you're in runs in loops through your mind. Some memories slip past almost unnoticed, others stand blatantly out for no apparent reason, like the small things that catch one's attention just before sleep overtakes them.

_'Is that all, sir?'_

_'No,' of course not, heaven forbid a meeting should ever be short. 'Dilandau,' General Adelphos leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk ahead of him, 'rumors are going round the fortress that you're sleeping with the stratagos.'_

_Dilandau stared at him incredulously, 'Sir?'_

_'Is it true?' the general looked levelly back at him._

_Dilandau pushed away anger with quite a bit of difficulty, 'I... fail to see what business that is of yours if it is. Sir.'_

_'Because,' Adelphos continued to look placid and indifferent, but a hint of annoyance crept into his voice, 'you're making me look bad.'_

_'How so?'_

_The general raised an eyebrow._

_'Sir.'_

_'Dilandau, in giving you command of the Dragon Slayers, I put my reputation on the line. You have no family history, no accomplishments, no special training, nothing that qualifies you even as _much_ as half your men. I took a gamble on you, Dilandau,' Adelphos had an obnoxious habit of doing this overbearing I-raised-you-up-from-nothing speech whenever Dilandau made even the smallest of mistakes, 'and I think it was a good choice. However this kind of behavior is unacceptable.'_

_'What, specifically, is unacceptable, sir? That I would take a lover?' Dilandau had managed to keep himself from raising his voice, but a distinct edge of anger was becoming audible anyway._

_'Taking up with one of those damned scientists to start,' the general scoffed._

_Because the combat branch of the military hates the sorcerers for _some_ reason, despite the fact that the sorcerers make all the weapons and equipment they use. Of course. 'I don't involve myself in the feud with R and D and I never have. I also think Fo-Lord Folken qualifies as somewhat more than a "damned scientist." Sir.'_

_'Oh yes, the highest scientist in Zaibach, making word of your indiscretion spread even faster,' there was definite anger starting to bleed into Gein's voice now. 'And twice your age.'_

_'He's not,' Dilandau snapped. Why does it always come back to age? 'And I'd note that ten years is hardly an unusual separation in age as I've seen. Sir.'_

_General Adelphos's eyes narrowed, 'I won't have you being a catamite, Dilandau.'_

_Dilandau's hands were clenched into fists and he was biting his lip hard. He wasn't sure when he'd last been so angry. 'I won't have you dictating my personal life. Sir.'_

_Gein was angry. He looked near ready to explode. He was not used to being talked back to. 'You _forget_ yourself, Dilandau,' he growled._

_'No,' Dilandau answered firmly, not giving any ground, '_you_ forget _yourself_, general. Personal relationships are _not_ within the realm of your jurisdiction.'_

_Gein was red, his fisted hands shaking, as he stood, glaring furiously at Dilandau. When he spoke, he spoke through his teeth. 'Perhaps not _directly_,' he agreed, 'but keep in mind that _I_ define where your unit is stationed or even if _you_ are a _part_ of it.'_

_A prick of fear was overtaken almost instantly by further rage. 'And now threats? So this is unnegotiable?' Dilandau asked quietly._

_'It is,' Gein sat back in his chair, folding his arms and looking triumphant. Stupid man. 'You will end this laps in judgement now.'_

_'No,' Dilandau grinned and then grinned wider, seeing the shocked rage grow on Gein's face. He was obviously thrown by the smile and was having difficulty responding so Dilandau continued, to save him the trouble. 'Two ways this could end, general: first, assuming you transfer the unit, I don't work, I don't follow orders, I generally become a bottleneck, or second, you demote me. Now, the factor you're failing to take into account is how much influence I have over my Slayers. I chose them. I made them what they are. If I ask, they'll walk. They're loyal to _me_, general, not you,' Dilandau was surprised at how calm his voice sounded and how easily and confidently he grinned. 'I don't see how it could be very _efficient_ to train a _whole new_ unit at this late date.'_

_Gein stared at him speechlessly. He seemed to be turning that over in his mind again and again, processing as the angry flush drained from his face. One of the most common observations of the Dragon Slayers, Dilandau knew, was that they were, by all appearances, the closest knit unit in the Zaibach military. It had been planned that way. Group dynamic had been the highest priority through their selection and training. Gein knew that._

_He studied Dilandau silently for a moment. Dilandau let the smug grin dissolve but maintained a look of complete confidence. He'd won. Gein sat back in his chair and shook his head lightly, chuckling. 'This had better not effect your performance, Dilandau. Dismissed.'_

He'd fought so hard to hang on to Folken. He'd risked literally everything he had to be cast carelessly aside like yesterday's garbage. 'I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,' he whispered to the floor. The skin on his face stung from tears not being wiped from it. Trails of salt stuck stiffly to his cheeks on the edges of newer, wet tear tracks.

Dilandau had always liked General Adelphos before that. The man conducted himself in a good natured, gregarious way around his favorite prodigies. He'd been the one to personally take an interest in Dilandau after the incident in youth training when Dilandau had maimed an instructor. He'd been fully expecting, as an eleven-year-old's imagination tends to lead them, to be thrown in prison or hanged when the general instead set him up as the first guymelef pilot in a fleet.

In Dilandau's mind, Gein had been raised to the level of divinity for quite a few years. His monthly reviews had always found Dilandau rather frantic and over excited about being the perfect soldier and later the perfect leader to please his favorite role model.

_'Review next week,' Gatti waved a message lazily in front of Dilandau's eyes._

_'By who?' Dilandau asked, pulling the paper away to look at it._

_'The general,' Gatti sat down next to Dilandau on the floor. 'Shall I spread the word that there will be no luxuries such as eating, sleeping or breathing the rest of this week?'_

_'Couple days before the last-minute panic hits,' Dilandau grinned, skimming over the text._

_'Any particular reason you're hiding down here?' Gatti asked, stretching his legs across the bare, metal-paneled floor of the hanger. 'I've been looking for you over an hour.'_

_'Sorry,' Dilandau rerolled the message and tucked it in his pocket. 'Three guesses who I'm hiding from.'_

_'Chesta, Chesta and, uhm, Chesta,' Gatti snorted._

_Dilandau nodded with a grimace, 'I think he's upset that I'm spending more time with you now.'_

_'Oh no, consulting your lieutenant, that _can't_ be wholesome,' Gatti laughed. 'Gods, sometimes I forget how obnoxious he is.'_

_'I stopped being surprised a long time ago,' Dilandau sighed._

_'You're too nice to him,' Gatti shrugged. 'He probably thinks you're playing hard to get. You've got to start being meaner if you want him to leave you alone.'_

_'I don't want him to leave me alone, I just want him to stop trying to get into my pants!' Dilandau complained._

_'Tell him to join the waiting list,' Gatti laughed._

_'Shut up.'_

_'You're the only person I know that would ever be upset that half the country wants to warm his bed,' Gatti chuckled._

_'I do get hit on by old, ugly people too, you know,' Dilandau retorted sulkily._

_'Ew, point,' Gatti laughed, 'but you're still a prude.'_

_A sharp punch in the ribs answered the remark. Gatti gasped painfully and then laughed again after a moment, grinning amusedly at Dilandau who crossed his arms and glared angrily into the space ahead of him._

_'Or maybe...' Gatti said slyly, leaning into Dilandau's line of vision, 'you just already have your eye on someone and are just too coy to admit it.'_

_A tingle of heat rushed to Dilandau's cheeks before he realized and shoved the feeling away, dipping his head slightly. Gatti's eyes and grin widened._

Who? Who? Who?_' he demanded excitedly, grabbing Dilandau's shoulders to prevent his escape._

Fuck off!_' Dilandau tried to push Gatti away, his face burning._

_'Oh, _fuck_ the shy act, Dilandau! You're _gorgeous_ and _dead_ charming! You could have _anyone_ you wanted, stupid! Who _is_ it?' Gatti persisted relentlessly._

_It seems to be a law of nature that one always must tell they're best friend about their first crush, however minor. Gatti was currently filling the position of best friend for Dilandau, since Chesta was now refusing to be platonic, and would succeed in dragging the information from him eventually. May as well give up before he's made a huge deal out of it. 'L-Lord Folken,' Dilandau stammered very quietly, his face feeling as though it might burst into flames any moment._

_Gatti whistled lightly, sitting back on his heals. 'You _would_ choose the exception, _wouldn't_ you? That guy's made of _ice_, Dilandau!' he wailed quietly._

_'Maybe that's the appeal,' Dilandau shrugged. 'I've never been afraid of a challenge.'_

_Gatti grinned, 'You know I'm not going to stop badgering you to tell him now.'_

No!_ Bastard! Leave me _alone!_' Dilandau protested._

_'No luck,' Gatti said smugly, standing and turning to leave. 'Now get your ass upstairs and start bossing everyone around like a bug-house dictator, we've got a review next week!'_

Somebody was at his door again. Knocking and a plaintive whine, 'Dilandau?' It was followed by the sounds of a minor scuffle and Chesta swapping vicious threats and insults with Dalet as he was dragged away from the door. _That_ was normal, at least. _Joy_.

Dilandau's muscles complained loudly as he pushed himself off the ground. His head was throbbing to more than outmatch the pain of his recent wound. He dropped his coat on the floor and let himself fall sideways across his bed. Cold and lonely.

He hated sleeping alone. It was generally considered a rather grand privilege to have a room to yourself on an airship, cramped as living conditions were, but Dilandau had never liked it. It had taken him months to get used to falling asleep without the sound of a dozen other children's breath filling the room around him.

_'Chesta!'_

_'Ngmfn...'_

_'Wake up!'_

_'Wsnngsn?'_

_It was an hour after lights-out and Chesta had a tendency to sleep like a corpse. Dilandau grabbed his shoulders and shook him. 'Wake _up!_' he whispered slightly louder._

_'Ngg! Get _off!_' Chesta pushed him away, sleepily sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He then paused and gasped 'You're _back_!' flinging his arms around Dilandau. 'What happened? What did he _do_ to you? What _took_ so long?' he demanded worriedly._

Shush!_ You're going to wake everybody up!' Dilandau hissed, untangling Chesta's arms and dragging him out of bed (which was fortunately on the bottom tier)._

_After pulling him out to the dimly lit common area between three other group bedrooms and theirs, Dilandau broke into a huge smile. This threw Chesta considerably who had been under the impression Dilandau had just finished being punished. 'Chesta, you're _never_ going to _believe_ this!'_

_'Then why'd you wake me up?' Chesta asked blearily._

Listen!_' Dilandau demanded impatiently. 'So I wasn't punished--'_

_'You don't _look_ punished,' Chesta yawned. 'I believe it. _Done?

No!_ I was in to see General Adelphos Gein _himself_--'_

_'I _know_ this part. _Jeez_, Dilandau, it's late!'_

_'Shut up!' Dilandau stamped his foot in annoyance. 'And I couldn't be scared, I mean I was terrified but I just kept being rude, I thought I was going to be hung for sure!'_

_'And?'_

_'Shut _up!_' Dilandau snapped again. 'He tells me to follow him and we go to the sorcerers--'_

_'Why?' Chesta suddenly looked very awake._

_'Just _listen_, moron! So we get there and the general says to one of them that I'm the first for the new unit.'_

_Chesta's eyes widened but he didn't interrupt._

_'And they say all kinds of stuff before anybody bothers to tell _me_ what's going on! And --oh _gods_, Chesta-- I'm going to pilot a _guymelef!

No!_ You? Why?' Chesta gasped, the whole thing did sound like a fairy tale._

_'It gets better! There's going to be a whole _fleet_ of them!' Dilandau squealed._

_Chesta just stared at him a moment, then his face fell, 'That's _crap, _Dilandau. They couldn't make a whole fleet.'_

_'They can too!' Dilandau stuck out a lip, crossing his arms defiantly. 'They're _sorcerers!_ They're spooky like that!'_

_Chesta looked at him doubtfully, 'Even if they could, why would they want _you?_ You don't have training or birth or anything. And you're just some dumb kid.'_

_'They're _looking_ for kids to train up,' Dilandau shifted back to nervous excitement. 'He says I've got spunk or something.'_

_'Is that contagious?'_

_Dilandau snorted annoyedly._

_'So if you're not hallucinating from too many blows to the head, that's pretty cool,' Chesta shrugged, still not believing the story._

_'I'm not making this up!' Dilandau came close to shouting in frustration._

_'Of course not. I believe you.'_

_'No you don't.'_

_'But at least I'm pretending to,' Chesta grinned._

_'You're a jerk,' Dilandau stuck out his lip sulkily._

_Chesta giggled and pulled him into a hug. 'And you're crazy. But I like you anyway.'_

'FUCKING BASTARD! I'm going to _rip_ your _fucking_ head off! _LET GO!_'

'Like you _could_. Go fuck off and leave him alone.'

'You're mother's a whore!-- _AH!_'

And the first blow had been struck. The fight lasted a few minutes before the sound of furniture tumbling and Dalet screaming morbid, nonsensical threats stopped. Chesta seemed to be having trouble with the concept that Dalet could and _would_ beat the hell out of him.

'FUCKING PSYCHOPATH!'

'I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, CHESTA!'

'Shut _up_, Chesta! I'll beat you unconscious _myself! Fuck!_'

Gatti was breaking up the fight then. That was good. On top of everything while Dilandau was moping. As usual. Gatti needed a raise. Unfortunate that that wasn't in Dilandau's power.


	9. In which the Dragon Slayers play cards

'Hm, aren't you a lively bunch!' Refina strolled into the Dragon Slayers' quarters. A handful of them were sitting around, sedately playing cards. 'What's the game?' she asked, leaning over the back of a couch.

'What the hell do you want?' Gatti sighed annoyedly to her right.

'Good morning, lieutenant!' Refina answered in a sugary voice and pecked his cheek.

Gatti grimaced and pushed her away, 'Fuck off.' He discarded a card and asked again, 'To what do we owe the displeasure?'

Refina mussed his hair and wandered unhurriedly over to Dalet's chair. 'Concern for a fellow officer,' she said casually, dropping across Dalet's lap and trailing a hand down his neck. 'Word is Dilandau's locked himself all up.'

'Like you care,' Chesta snorted, drawing a card.

'Looking for gossip again. Do you actually do anything _real_ around here, Refina?' Guimel grinned.

'I'm the best assassin in Zaibach,' Refina cooed proudly, as she often did.

'No,' Miguel discarded a card, 'you're a slut. We all know you slept your way to the top.'

Refina pointedly ignored him. 'So what's wrong with Dilandau?' she asked in a way that suggested she really didn't care much what the answer was, and tickled Dalet's ear. Aside from a slight smirk pulling at his lips, he was completely failing to acknowledge her presence.

'Because that's any of _your_ business,' Guimel scoffed, playing a card.

'Bad break-up with Folken?' she asked and then licked Dalet's neck. Still no response, she was starting to get annoyed.

'As previously stated, it's none of your business,' Gatti growled.

'Thought so. Folken's out of sorts too, nearly raised his voice today,' Refina snorted then demanded '_Damn_ it, Dalet! Aren't _I_ more interesting than cards?'

Dalet shrugged, smirk widening, 'There's actually some _challenge_ to playing cards.'

The other Dragon Slayers burst out laughing as Refina flushed in fury. She slapped Dalet, rather weakly due to the angle, across the face and pushed herself out of the chair, 'Like _you're_ one to talk! --Hey!'

Dalet caught her round the waist and dragged her back down, 'But you do have your appeal too.' Dalet kissed her hard and Refina didn't struggle away. She still hoped he might be more willing to give her details on what had so devastated Dilandau. And he was a good fuck besides.

'But any idea how it went down? There's a lot of talk about Dilandau trying to sniper dragon-boy,' Refina asked lazily.

'Is there a lot of talk about that?' Dilandau's voice, filled with sarcasm, asked.

Refina jumped slightly and turned her head to see Dilandau crossing the room from his bedroom door. 'Hi, Dilly!' she sang.

He narrowed his eyes and snapped, 'Stop seducing my Slayers while they're on duty.'

'Oh, are they?' Refina asked innocently, hopping to her feet again. 'I was a bit thrown by the slacking off.'

'Glad I could clarify for you then,' Dilandau glared from her to the Dragon Slayers who were throwing away their card game and standing at attention. He was more pale than usual, his eyes pink round the edges (as well as the usual tint to the irises) and looking very tired.

'You look like shit, Dilly,' she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

'Fuck off,' Dilandau snorted back.

'Say, you--'

'Meaning "Leave." Now,' Dilandau crossed his arms, glaring more coldly than usual at her.

Refina sniffed and glided quietly out of the room, her boots not even clicking as they touched the metal floor. She was annoyed, but thought better of arguing with Dilandau. He didn't look like he had the patience to fight today and probably would have just reported her. Another time.


	10. Which contains the popular bottle scene

'What the fuck do _you_ want?' Dilandau asked quietly as Folken came into the room.

Folken looked blank. He looked serious and unemotional. Damn him. It was the same face he used when working. Nothing. He looked like a doll. He was hiding from Dilandau behind a blank facade. Or he felt nothing. Either way it told Dilandau he couldn't have him back. It wouldn't be like before.

'I didn't mean that,' Folken said quietly.

'What didn't you mean, stratagos?' Dilandau could see Folken wince at the unfamiliarity. 'Anything you ever said to me?'

'That's not--'

'SHUT UP!' Dilandau screamed furiously. The touch of emotion that had shown on Folken's face was swept away, back into the cold, dead mask. 'I'm so sick of your voice.'

Folken said nothing. He didn't leave. He was still standing there, saying nothing, his face disgustingly blank, not moving. The word 'lurking' wasn't right but came to mind.

Dilandau felt anger trickling away and leaving him entirely empty. He felt hollow and useless. He felt sick. He hated feeling sick. His continued silence risked the renewal of conversation. That was a sickening thought. He searched for some distraction.

Making useless noise was ever a good distraction from anything that offended. His first thought was to drum his fingers or possibly kick his heal against his chair, but then he noticed the wine bottle and the thought of screaming glass seemed more appropriate. And obnoxious.

A thin, opaque line and a horrible, quietly ear-splitting shriek followed his knife down the bottle. He caught Folken flinching out of the corner of his eye and followed with another slow drag of the knife down the bottle. He let the minimal activity push away thoughts and allow him to focus his mind on nothing for a while.

He vaguely noticed that there was quite a collection of scratches running down the bottle and wondered how much time had passed. That broke the spell and suddenly he was thinking again.

He drew his arm back, slowly and deliberately, then snapped the knife forward at the bottle as hard as he could. It managed to punch a hole into the glass without shattering the elegant vessel. That fascinated Dilandau vaguely, but now his distraction was gone.

Dilandau screamed wordlessly in frustration and whirled on Folken. 'Folken!' he shouted and had no idea what he meant to say next. Talk about work. Talk about anything but what he was feeling. Talk about something stupid. 'This is stupid!' he growled. 'What the hell are we waiting around for? We know they have the damned Dragon!'

Folken looked taken aback by the subject. Hurt by the lack of attention to what was really wrong. Good. 'What?' he asked stupidly.

'Waiting, waiting, always fvcking _waiting!_ This is how wars are lost! Waiting to the last minute to do anything! We can't afford this delay!'

'We know where the Dragon is. There's no hurry,' Folken said slowly, confusion and despair crossing his face for a moment.

Dilandau snorted, 'And there's no reason to _wait_, either! We should just _take_ the damn thing! Does the emperor really approve of this delay?'

Folken was silent, trying to read past the artificial conversation. Dilandau glared defiantly back at him. The suffocating tension was broken by the sound of the door sliding open.

'Sir!' Gatti came in, then hesitated, seeing Folken, for a moment before continuing across the room to Dilandau with a letter in hand.

'What is it?' Dilandau demanded, grateful for the interruption.

'A message from General Adelphos,' Gatti answered more easily, seeming to note that Dilandau was pleased with the distraction.

That could be good or that could be bad. He'd been a little at odds with Gein recently but this could be orders overriding Folken's. The general understood the importance of time and the opportunity to rub Dilandau's better judgement of military procedure in Folken's face was not to be missed. 'Read it,' he ordered flatly.

'Yes, sir,' Gatti unrolled the message and read aloud from it, "The Emperor has ordered the capture of the Duchy of Freid. I am en route to Asturia now."'

'The generals are coming in person?' Folken looked thoughtful, 'They must have located the power spot...'

'They found it?' Dilandau bubbled with unexpected excitement; the war was almost over.

Gatti shrugged slightly before reading on, '"The Destiny Prediction Engine has predicted the Dragon could be a problem. Capture it before we proceed."'

'Finally!' Dilandau exclaimed, deciding to make preparations for the operation immediately, mainly as an excuse to leave the room before he again found himself alone with Folken.

'"Also,"' Gatti read, halting him. '"Don't get carried away."'

Dilandau froze and stared at Gatti, speechless. Gein had never said anything like that before. Was it because of the destruction of Costello Fort? How could Gatti have read that _now?_

Gatti rerolled the message and turned to him. 'That--' Gatti reeled sideways for a moment when Dilandau unexpectedly backhanded him. He refocused on Dilandau after a moment, looking shocked and offended. '_That's all_, sir.'

'We'll be using Asturia's harbor as a staging ground for the attack on Freid. He's telling you not to do anything to disturb our relations with Asturia,' Folken said smoothly. Smugly. As if Dilandau hadn't known that.

'I've got nothing against Asturia,' Dilandau sniffed. 'My only concern is the Dragon.' He didn't look at Folken as he said, 'I want him to wish he was never born.'

'If you're looking for revenge,' Folken said sternly, turning to leave, 'take it after the capture.'

Dilandau covered astonishment and doubt with sarcasm, 'You're going to give me your _precious_ little brother?'

'I destroyed my country,' Folken said, leaving the room. What was that? Offering up the kinglette as a sacrificial lamb? What did he mean? Why would he give the bastard to Dilandau? He wouldn't. It was a bluff. To keep Dilandau from killing the boy before he reached the ship; before Folken could protect him.

'You're good...' Dilandau whispered, shaking slightly with rage. He looked at his feet and found the unshattered bottle lying near him. He picked it up, somewhat gingerly, by the mouth and flung it at the door, with the same snapping motion he'd flung the knife into it, screaming, 'FUCKING LYING BASTARD!'

'Should have done that while he was in the room,' Gatti groused, 'instead of hitting me...'

'Why did you have to _read_ that in front of _him?_' Dilandau whirled around, focussing his furry on Gatti.

'It was written in the message,' Gatti crossed his arms in sullen anger.

'You could have told me later!' Dilandau snapped, dropping back into his seat, exhausted. 'You made him win.'

'He didn't win anything,' Gatti scoffed. 'He didn't write that. He didn't have anything to do with it.'

'Why the fuck would Gein tell me off like that?' Dilandau demanded, kicking over the small table on which the wine bottle had once sat.

'I don't know.'

'Is _everybody_ against me?' he shouted at the ceiling.

'No.'

'I don't know what I'm doing...' Dilandau sat on the floor. He pulled his knees to his chin and glared into space. Gatti crouched down next to him, wrapping an arm around Dilandau's shoulders.

'You're raging. You've every right to. Get it out of your system and get on with life,' Gatti murmured quietly.

'I don't want to,' Dilandau choked.


	11. In which some stuff is burned

'What the _hell_ is he _doing?_' one of the bridge officers gaped as part of a residential district in Asturia when up in flames.

He was recklessly destroying. Folken rubbed his hand over his face, feeling sick and guilty. He'd been feeling like that the past few days. He had to admit that his attempts to talk to Dilandau had been fairly feeble. The silence had been terrible. He'd been hoping Dilandau would fly into a rage and scream at him. That would have been easier to diffuse than the cold, silent hatred he seemed to be projecting.

Folken looked back at the monitors. In some he could see panicked citizens running away from the fight, fleeing their burning homes in uncomprehending terror. At the center of Dilandau's monitor stood Escaflowne. Two girls, one human, one cat, were clinging at it's shoulders. Folken studied the cat as closely as the poor quality of the image would allow, wondering. There wasn't color in the monitor and the image was grainy, but, likely more from hope and nostalgia than the sight, Folken thought the cat-girl was Meryl.

Escaflowne was still, not striking a battle ready stance, just staring around in horror at the madness of fire and pain. Folken felt very cold and hot at the same time, as though in fever. He was suddenly absolutely sure that Dilandau had no intention of bringing the Dragon back with him.

He hadn't known Dilandau to make the decision to kill outside of large battles. He knew he was a better pilot than Van. He knew he could easily capture Van. But he wasn't going to. Folken shivered.

'Dilandau, you are to avoid damaging the city! Asturia is still our ally!' an officer was shouting into the radio.

'So they're missing a few houses. They're not going to miss them much when the king remembers that they've got nothing without us,' Dilandau's voice was light and amused.

He'd never attacked a residential area of his own volition. He'd never sounded so amused with citizenry running about him screaming. Folken shivered again. The whole scene made him nauseous. The sense that a death was imminent did nothing to help.

Escaflowne leapt out of the way as Dilandau struck, changing into a dragon more quickly than he'd seen it do, and flying towards Dilandau. The arm of Alseides came up, preparing to fire again at the Dragon, but was caught and used to throw the land-bound guymelef backwards a few steps. It seemed a fairly futile attack but was enough of a stall for Escaflowne to get past the third guymelef that had appeared on the ship's monitors.

Cool relief flooded through Folken as he saw Dilandau was stopping his homicidal rampage when confronted with the knight. Allen Schezar did have quite a reputation for being an amazing guymelef pilot. And Dilandau knew better than to fight the local authority.

The worry that Asturia had decided the treaty was broken brought sickness back to Folken's stomach. As Dilandau had said, King Aston was well aware of Zaibach's superior military strength, but he had tried to be deceptive, perhaps the attack had been enough to push the king into ending relations?

By the time the matter was sorted out, Van would be too far away to catch up to immediately. Folken felt vaguely disgusted with himself for finding that such a relieving thought.

_'You can't be on both sides.'_

True. Dilandau had been right about that if anything. Folken knew he was loyal to Zaibach's cause, and he couldn't keep sabotaging himself as he had been. It wasn't right and the emperor only had so much patience. If he was going to sever loyalties to his old home, he had to do it completely.


	12. In which Dilandau gets worried

Dilandau wasn't quite sure why he was so angry with Schezar. He was of course acting in a completely patriotic and honorable way. It was because Van had slipped past him again.

No, it wasn't. That was the odd part. Dilandau wasn't just angry that Van was fled, but felt anger at Allen Schezar personally. He didn't even know Schezar. His only qualm was the man's overconfident manner and that he'd helped enable Van's escape the first time.

But that was Folken's fault. Dilandau blamed Van's escape entirely on Folken. The first time. This time it was Schezar's fault, but he'd been in the right morally, though a bit off kilter politically. So why was Dilandau so completely furious with Schezar?

It was the vague, confused feeling of betrayal that bothered him most. Why should he feel betrayed? He didn't even know Schezar. It made no sense. And that upset him more. He had the feeling that he ought to know the knight, that he had once, but that was impossible. He'd never been to Asturia until very recently and as far as he knew, Schezar had never been to Zaibach.

Yet he couldn't shake the eerie feeling of something he was overlooking. Something barely on the edge of his consciousness. Something like the vague memory of a dream.

He pushed this trouble away with a viscous kick to a wall. It left a satisfying dent. The distant-seeming hum of Gatti's voice, that he'd been paying next to no attention to, stopped a moment.

'Sir?'

'I'm so pissed off at that bastard knight,' Dilandau growled.

Gatti nodded, 'At least he's being dealt with.'

Dilandau perked up, 'How.'

Gatti raised his eyebrows and Dilandau realized that had likely been a part of what he was supposed to have been listening to for the last... however long it had been. 'He's being held in the palace dungeon. Have you heard anything?'

'No,' Dilandau sighed, leaning against a wall.

'You should get some sleep,' Gatti said, shifting into a warmer, friendly voice.

'Probably, but I doubt I will,' Dilandau shrugged and went on walking.

'Hey,' Gatti caught his arm, 'I know we're in the middle of a war,' he said with a light smile, 'but take it easy.'

Dilandau looked back at him, feeling very weak again once given an excuse by his friend, 'Okay.'

'Get some sleep.'

'Okay.'

It was nearing noon and he still had to meet with General Adelphos, who'd arrived earlier that morning. He wished there could be more of a middle ground between busy days and slow days. It always seemed that either nothing was happening at all or that everything was happening at once.

It seemed as though every door he passed, somebody leaned out to tell him he had somewhere else to be. The general was most important though. Meetings were the worst when one had been awake more than thirty-six hours. Sitting, or just standing still, made weariness start to overtake him again. Unfortunately, meetings were all that was happening today.

They were still trying to relocate the Dragon. Dilandau had little to do with that, but he'd been expected to stay around while the Asturian politicians were frantically trying to assure those of Zaibach that Schezar had been operating completely on his own and against the wishes and commands of the king. That had been boring, slow and exhausting.

Aside from that, of course, every officer on the ship seemed to have been shouting at him since he got back aboard, demanding to know why he'd been so reckless in what was supposed to have been a very discrete capture. Then there was the whispers and nods.

By this time, word seemed to have circulated the fortress of Folken's relation to the little king. Fairly quickly, this fact and Dilandau's sullenness and attempts at killing the bastard had been connected. And _everyone_ seemed eager to console Dilandau. Damn them. They'd left off making passes at him a little when the rumors had spread of his relationship with Folken, now they seemed to have started again with greater vigor than ever.

He'd punched two of them today. Though he really had no right, as far as authority went, to hit anyone but his Slayers, but rules were generally suspended in regard to personal relationships. This may partly have been that no one wants to admit they got turned down or had an argument with a partner and that's why they have a fist sized bruise on their jaw or eye. It tended to just be assumed.

'I'll skip lunch.'

'Don't skip lunch,' Gatti sighed. 'They can't expect you to be up all day. You haven't got any other obligations after you meet with the general.'

'Yet,' Dilandau yawned.

'I'll cover for you. Take a nap.'

'Then I just won't sleep tonight.'

'A short nap. Rest anyway,' Gatti said in a stern way that almost made Dilandau laugh.

'I'll fall asleep the moment I sit down. I need to keep moving.'

'You _should_ sleep.'

'Stop babying me.'

'Take better care of yourself.'

'Why?'

Gatti looked worried and pulled Dilandau to a stop again, 'You're going to make yourself sick. You can't afford not to be at your best.'

'I'm not at my best,' Dilandau snorted.

'I know,' Gatti nodded, a vague sadness to his face, 'but making yourself sick isn't going to help anything.'

Dilandau grimaced, 'I never said it would. Do you think I'm fishing for pity?'

'That had occurred to me.'

'I don't _want_ that bastard's pity!' Dilandau hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands were fisted at his sides and shaking. 'I don't want to be _excused _for anything because I was _sick_. _He_ was wrong! He was _dead_ wrong! That's _all!_'

'I know,' Gatti answered quietly. 'I agree with you. He was way out of line in his duty to country and how he treated you. I just worry. You just... you know, sometimes you apologize when you're right and you... you seem to take things out on yourself whether it's your fault or not when you're trying to hold on to someone.'

'Right,' Dilandau rolled his eyes, 'I'm a total martyr.'

'You're not even aware of it much, I think. Like Chesta, you don't lead him on, but you don't discourage him much either. Like you're afraid he's just going to start hating you once he realizes he really can't have you.'

Dilandau froze suddenly. The parallel of Chesta's attraction to him with his own unreturned love of Folken suddenly occurred to him. He stared at the ground, trying to pull the thoughts apart again; failing. 'Gatti,' he found his voice to be shaking slightly as he looked back into his friend's confused eyes, 'am I really hurting Chesta very much?'

He could see the understanding hit Gatti and spread across his face. 'Dilandau,' he said, his voice quiet and trying to be comforting, 'it's a crush.'

'It's been four years,' Dilandau leaned against the wall for support.

'The first crush lingers.'

'Four years?'

'Chesta's obsessive about things.' Gatti caught Dilandau's chin, forcing eye contact, 'Hey, you can't compromise your own feelings to please him. That's not fair to either of you. Like I said, you haven't been leading him on. Folken was leading you on. It's different.'

Dilandau nodded slowly, looking back at the ground and feeling a headache coming on. 'I just don't want to hurt him like that...' his voice was shaking more than ever, a lump catching in his throat.

'I know. I think he was getting over it. It was just, when he heard about you and Folken, he got pretty upset. He's really protective of you, either way.'

Dilandau nodded again, still looking at the ground.

'You didn't make him fall in love with you. You've been a great friend to him. It's not your fault he sees you as more than that. Don't go thinking you owe him more. You have to be true to yourself.'

Nod.

'Hey.'

'What?'

'Smile.'

'No.'

'Good.'

'What?'

'True to yourself.'

'Oh,' Dilandau smiled slightly.


	13. In which Folken gets punched again

Adelphos noted the dazed, tired way Dilandau seemed to be only half there. He tried to crush away the pang of sympathy he felt and remain focused on the fact that Dilandau had disregarded an order. Still, he looked weary and ill, his complexion had an unhealthy grayness to it and his eyes were rather swollen.

Mentally squaring himself against the fondness he had for the boy, he folded his hands in front of him in an intimidating way and tried his best to put on a stern face. 'I believe I told you not to get carried away.'

'I was wondering about that...' Dilandau mused quietly. It was much quieter than he normally spoke, and baring an unfamiliar sullenness. 'You've never said something like that, sir.'

'I've never needed to.'

'And you thought you would this time... did the Destiny Prediction Engine say you did? Sir?'

Adelphos shook his head, 'Just a feeling.'

'Sorry.'

'Dilandau,' Adelphos sighed, 'at least give me some explanation for you're behavior?'

'None, sir.'

'None?'

'I don't have one, sir.'

Adelphos studied Dilandau for a while. His gaze was low, vaguely tilted towards the desk rather than meeting Adelphos's eyes as he usually did. He stood up strait, not as much as usual though. Melancholy hung about him.

'What's wrong, Dilandau?'

'Nothing.'

Personal matters. If it had to do with that pedophilic stratagos bastard... It was these moods that made Adelphos find himself regarding Dilandau too parentally. Dilandau had a way of expressing more personality in every sentence and gesture than most of Adelphos's other subordinates had shown in all the time he'd worked with them.

But he wasn't overly emotional. He was strong minded and commanding. Dilandau had all the qualities Adelphos most looked for in soldiers and he had often found himself grooming Dilandau to be a general himself one day.

'_"Nothing"_ that is effecting your work?'

'It won't happen again, sir,' Dilandau answered in the strange, apathetic way that Adelphos was finding thoroughly baffling.

'See that it doesn't,' Adelphos nodded, studying Dilandau a moment longer before biding him leave. 'Dismissed.'

'Thank you, sir,' Dilandau said listlessly and left the room.

Adelphos folded his hands under his chin and glared at the wall opposite him. He did take too much personal interest in Dilandau. His thoughts had run along these lines often in past years and always lead him back to the thought of a boy that would have been about Dilandau's age now, had he and his mother not died in labor.

Closing his eyes, Adelphos sighed and shook slightly. Dilandau wasn't his son; he really didn't even know the boy that well. Just another orphan from the asylums. Just another subordinate.

His train of thought was broken when a buzz sounded from the metal box in the right corner of his desk. He took a steadying breath, regaining composure before pressing the button on it and asking, 'What?'

'Red-Copper Chief Assassin Refina. You wanted to see me, sir?'

Damn. Had he asked to see that girl? 'Enter,' he said sternly. Refina walked into the room, vivacious and flirtatious as ever. She stood before the desk, daring to smile in a cheery, casual way as she saluted.

'Report.'

'Three successful assassinations this month. Intelligence is operating smoothly. Naria and Eria are scheduled to return to the Vione in two weeks,' Refina listed in a rehearsed way.

Adelphos nodded and was about to wrap up the meeting as swiftly as possible when a thought occurred to him. 'At ease, Refina,' he said quietly and looked at her consideringly. She noticed the look and, as was her way, fluttered her eyelashes and leaned on a hip. Adelphos did his best not to grimace. 'Refina, would you happen to know what's bothering Dilandau?' perhaps it was a bit of stereotyping that he assumed Refina would know the goings on of the ship, but she seemed like the sort to be into everything.

Her eyes lit up at the opportunity to gossip. Adelphos felt rather disgusted with her for knowing and himself for asking. 'Yes, sir,' she answered with a knowledgeable smile.

Gritting his teeth, Adelphos asked, 'Would you care to explain?'

'Well,' watching and listening to Refina starting to launch into a tale of gossip, Adelphos found himself very much regretting that Zaibach had started finding places for women in its ranks. 'I've heard that Lord Folken dumped him rather cruelly last week. He locked himself in his room nearly two days. They're also saying that this Dragon-kid is Lord Folken's brother and now Dilandau is absolutely intent on slaughtering him horribly,' Refina grinned, pleased with herself for knowing so much.

Adelphos forgot to be disgusted with himself for listening to her when Folken's name came up. His hands clenched into a combine fist atop his desk and he tried hard to keep anger from his face. 'Thank you, Refina. Dismissed,' he said quietly. She looked somewhat disappointed and deflated as she left the room.

He met with a few other subordinates, plodding annoyedly through their trivial reports of nothing before finding himself free to leave his temporary office and head towards the bridge.

The fortress was headed south, towards Freid, the bridge officers were busy with monitoring its progress and relocating the missing Dragon. Adelphos stood back, near one of the doors and watched the activity. The stratagos was busily moving about and giving orders and checking on progress. It was perhaps ten minutes before he was headed towards the door, a secretary skipping at his heals.

He made no indication of having noticed Adelphos as he passed and Adelphos turned, following him calmly down the hall for a moment before catching his shoulder and yanking him about. Folken looked slightly startled before Adelphos landed a punch on him that made him stagger and hit the floor with one knee. The secretary backed up against the wall, eyes wide and much of the rest of her face hidden behind her clipboard. The stratagos cupped a hand round his jaw and stayed still, half crumpled for a few moments before standing up again.

He nodded to Adelphos, 'General.'

Adelphos nodded back, 'Stratagos,' and continued past him down the hall.


	14. In which Chesta is bitter

Chesta grimaced and ordered his hand of cards out numerically. Dalet was chattering like a cracked-out monkey. Babbling about nothing and managing to give every second sentence sexual suggestiveness.

'Dalet,' Miguel said in a sarcastic voice that indicated his annoyance, 'are you _capable_ of not talking for _five minutes _at a time? When you're _not_ asleep?'

Dalet grinned obnoxiously and laced his arm round Miguel's shoulders, 'Maybe if I had something _else_ to do with my mouth.'

_Typical_, Chesta thought as Miguel shoved Dalet away, looking unperturbed. Dalet was more obnoxious than usual today. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to his mood swings but to be as annoying as humanly possible. Chesta's arm was still sore from being twisted around as Dalet threw him to the ground a few days ago.

That psychotic should have been locked up years ago. He got away with murder almost daily and likely _literally_ sometimes. He broke Chesta's collarbone last year. How the fuck do you break a collarbone? He'd hit higher officers and all manner of intolerable shit and still he wasn't put into prison or even dismissed from duty as a Dragon Slayer.

He threw down the three of spades and declared it gleefully. Like a four-year-old. A four-year-old troll. Chesta rolled his eyes. Why was he even playing? The dull thought that he had nothing better to do was like a press, slowly crushing the air out of his lungs with gloomy depression. This cluster of rooms was his home and social universe. The next eight years looked every bit as bleak as the last fifteen, if not more so.

Miguel's card was the seven of spades. Chesta didn't have any spades. Damn. Viole changed suit with a seven of hearts and a nock. He leaned back into his seat, curling his feet up under him and watching the discard pile in a calm but alert way as Chesta dropped the two of hearts. He had a deceptively sweet and childish face. He looked like a painting done in the soft, round, Asturian style of the last century.

'Cherubic' was a good word for Viole's looks. 'Lascivious' was a good word for him. He had the same quiet, placid facade with larger groups, but left alone he'd come on to Chesta twice before they'd had a fight that ended their friendship. And now he was fucking Dalet. There was little more revolting than finding the two of them necking or worse in some dim corner or side hall.

Gatti called Mao and the round was over. Next round another rule that they'd have to guess on. This was such a stupid game. If Dilandau were playing, it would have been worthwhile to put up with, but he'd nodded off during supper and gone to bed right after.

Gatti had shooed him into his room. Concerned for Dilandau's health? More like heaping on sugary worry and sympathy to further his attempts to sink his claws into Dilandau while he was pining. Bastard. Perfectly happy to take advantage of his loneliness and over sensitivity.

Chesta sighed and tossed the remainder of his cards on to the table, saying 'I'm done.'

'Game's not over,' Guimel protested annoyedly.

'The game's never over. It just goes on until everyone gets sick of it. I'm sick of it now,' Chesta answered colorlessly, getting up and trudging away to the door across the room with a '2' printed on it at eye level. There were four rooms in the cluster, one Dilandau's, two fours and a six. Two was the six, which Chesta had the misfortune of sharing with five of the most obnoxious soldiers in the unit.

Fortunately they'd be out playing cards a while longer and Chesta could at least have a chance to read a few chapters of his book in peace.


	15. In which Folken has selfesteem issues

_Folken pushed a few wandering locks of hair from Dilandau's eyes. His face stayed stagnant, unperturbed, and deeply in sleep. In defiance of his awkward age, his skin was flawless from near obsessive grooming. For all he seemed to dislike being an object of lust, he maintained his beauty remarkably well. Just for himself; for his own satisfaction. That was the sort of person he was, confident and needing no assurance or excuse from anyone else._

_His perfection was almost doll like. His creamy face was like finely sculpted porcelain. The sterling strands of his hair spilled over the pillow in a way that seemed both liquid and alive, like quicksilver but paler. He was more beautiful than any sea nymph or deity. It was no wonder that nearly everyone who saw him wanted to possess him._

_And here he lay in Folken's bed. Folken pulled himself closer to Dilandau, wrapping his arms around the slender frame. 'Why me, sweet nymph?' he whispered softly into Dilandau's silvery hair. 'Why did you choose me?_

_'You shouldn't have gotten yourself involved with me. I'm not a good person... and I don't have the strength to push you away...' he kissed Dilandau's forehead. Dilandau mumbled lightly in his sleep, it was all but unintelligible except for Folken's name. 'Here angel, as long as you'll tolerate me,' Folken breathed squeezing Dilandau's shoulder. Dilandau sighed lightly, sounding so happy and contented._

_'I didn't think I had a heart to steal,' Folken mused, closing his eyes, 'but you found it...' The steady sound of Dilandau's breath was his only response. Folken sighed and buried his face in Dilandau's hair. Part of him wished he could say things like that while Dilandau was awake, part of him recoiled at how cliched and artificial it sounded. Like he was just repeating things he'd read somewhere. Maybe that was why there were so many poems about love; anything you say about it sounds pretentious and lyrical._

_'Beautiful, beautiful angel...' he kissed Dilandau's ear, 'don't waste your time with me.'_

Folken ran his tongue along the cut on the inside of his cheek from where it had been punched into his teeth. That was the second time he'd been punched by Adelphos Gein, the first being when he'd caught word of the relationship. He was more protective of Dilandau than any other of his subordinates. Dilandau had been the golden-child of the red-copper army since his first battle.

The general looked like a powerful man, and he was. He'd nearly broken Folken's nose the first time he'd punched him. Not that he didn't deserve it. He'd known better than to let himself get wrapped up with someone Dilandau's age. But he'd ignored better judgement. He'd been unable to refuse Dilandau, unable to push him away until now. It was better that it was over. The whole thing was a mistake.

Yet here he sat, wishing Dilandau were back in his arms. Several times he had almost set out to find Dilandau. He only managed to keep himself still by the thought that Dilandau might come while he was gone. As though he ever would. He had no reason. He'd been publicly scorned and had every reason in the world to hate Folken.

And Folken had only himself to blame. The thought had come to him before, but never so strongly, that Draconians really were cursed. He destroyed everything he touched. He betrayed every trust put in him. He hurt everyone who cared for him. He was a demon, cursed to be forever miserable and spread that misery to everyone near him.

Another fate to escape. Was that why he was so desperate to see the Atlantis Machine finished? To undo a centuries old curse? Just to be free for a little while of his destiny to spread as much pain to the world as possible? Another selfish desire. Another escape from responsibility. He was pathetic.

He rested his face in his hand, disgusted with how sorry he felt for himself. Dilandau was the one person in his life he'd truly connected with. It wasn't difficult to find sexual partners in wartime, life took on more urgency and there was less waiting for the future to happen. Everyone was looking for a few moments' relief from the tensions of military life.

Folken had had many relationships in Zaibach. They'd steadily become briefer and more meaningless as he grew more and more jaded with time. There had been six girls come and gone since he'd felt any emotional value to them. He'd barely mourned when a former 'lover' had been killed on mission.

Dilandau had broken him open completely. He'd startled him with the way he seemed to be the only real and sincere thing in Zaibach. Passion and longing that he hadn't felt in ages, or perhaps ever, had suddenly been focussed on Dilandau. He'd noticed Dilandau's eerie beauty before knowing him, but had found no draw to him until catching a glimpse of the depth and thought behind the beautiful mask.

That he'd found his attraction to Dilandau on an intellectual level gave him some comfort in his fretting over the age gap, though it still grated on him so often. All apprehension seemed to melt away in his presence, but in all the hours spent away from Dilandau, Folken found guilt and doubt slowly gnawing away at his mind. It was wrong. It shouldn't have happened. He was wrong to let it happen. The pain would go away soon. It would become just another sickening addition to his list of mistakes. It was over and all for the better.

Folken jerked his head back in surprise, staring at his hand. A wet streak shown across his palm and he could feel the chill of dampness on his face. When he blinked he could feel another tear pull away from his eye and travel slowly down his cheek, it weight pulling slightly at the skin, then around the underside of his jaw.

When had he last cried? He couldn't remember. Tears were weakness in Fanelia. He'd been taught from an early age not to let them show. He hadn't shed the slightest hint of sorrow when his father had died. Had he cried since coming to Zaibach? Maybe once. He couldn't remember.

Dilandau had never been afraid to cry. Emotion seemed to Folken to be more respected in Zaibach. Passion was encouraged not suppressed in favor of the blank, cold, dignity glamorized by the older, more 'traditional' nations. That was one of the qualities that had so appealed to him originally, the openness with which life was conducted, none of the flat propriety of Fanelia.

It wasn't long before it all became shallow and transparent. Passion was directed through propaganda and conditioning. They were trained just as hard as any to fit in with society and whatever the ruling power's purpose might be. It was just meant to look and feel more casual, inside perhaps more rigid a structure than most.

Orphans were brought up by the state; they should fit in more perfectly than any. But they were treated so poorly, they were bitter and worn before they'd reached adulthood. But Dilandau wasn't. He was vibrant and alive. He wasn't plagued by the psychological sicknesses that took so many of them. He wasn't afraid to be real. He wasn't afraid...

_'I just have images, little pictures of memories,' Dilandau said quietly, his eyes distantly looking past Folken's from a few inches away. A few strands of hair crossed his eyes, free of the usual headband and pulled sideways from the way he lay against the pillow. 'I can remember a blonde woman. I remember that she loved flowers and I can remember her holding me in her lap and singing. I think she was a very good singer,' he mused with a light smile. 'Kids aren't very good judges, though.'_

_'Do you know how old you were?' Folken asked curiously, running the back of his hand down Dilandau's neck._

_Dilandau shrugged slightly, 'Old enough to be running reliably. I was turned in to the asylum around sixish.'_

_Folken gazed at Dilandau's eyes, barely seeing him for the commotion of thought that distracted him. If he knew... but Dilandau was different; he actually thought... maybe... No. That was just stupid. What a disaster it would be if word got round the ship, round Zaibach. Would he tell? If he was upset enough he might. He would be. Who wouldn't?_

_The trust in his eyes, the warmth of his hand resting gently above Folken's hip, the wonderful empathy... he was so much more afraid of loosing that. But he shouldn't have that. This shouldn't be happening and he shouldn't be letting it. It would be short lived anyway. Just like everyone else, they'd part ways without a glance back. Why not just be done with it now..._

_'My mother,' Folken said slowly after a long pause, 'was always calm and seemed like the most put together person in the world. I only saw her really obviously upset when my father died.' He pushed himself away from the bed slightly, turning to press both hands against the mattress and staring down at the pillow, Dilandau's questioning face in the corner of his vision. 'I don't know where she came from. My father found her in the woods. Most people hated her. They were afraid of her.'_

_'Because she was a foreigner?' Dilandau asked when Folken fell silent for a long while._

_'No. Not just that,' Folken closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. He tensed his arms slightly, shifting the muscles in his back and sliding his shoulder blades back and away. The familiar pull and relief as his wings spread from his back was accompanied by a startled gasp from Dilandau. He pressed his eyes shut tighter, bracing himself._

_'She... she was a... Draconian...?' Dilandau whispered in an astonished, shaken voice._

_'Yes,' Folken forced his eyes open to take in Dilandau's expression. Awe, disbelief and fascination were painted across his face. Folken looked hard for the horror and revulsion that he was expecting. Dilandau rolled onto his back, eyes running along Folken's right wing, taking it in and not quite believing it._

_'Wow,' he whispered softly and reached out a hand. Folken stared at him speechlessly, as enthralled with Dilandau's reaction as he was with the wings. A feather came loose as Dilandau's hand ran slowly down the inside of Folken's wing, he gasped, looking horrified, 'I'm sorry!'_

_'No... it's all right,' Folken shook his head very slowly. 'It's like hair. A few fall out everyday. Or would,' he gave his wings a shake and dozens of feathers flurried about the room._

_Dilandau turned the feather around in his hands, examining it closely, unbothered by the most unlucky charm imaginable. 'Can you fly?' he whispered, looking back into Folken's eyes._

_Folken gazed back for a while, gathering the whirling thoughts into an answer. 'I'm physically capable of flight,' he nodded, half closing his eyes and not focussing on anything, 'but no. Not really. I may as well brand the word "demon" on my forehead.'_

_'... Have you?'_

_'Yes,' Folken felt his lips curling slightly at memories of flight._

_'What's it like?'_

_'Nothing else in the world.' He looked back at Dilandau, studying his features closely, '... You're not afraid.'_

_'Of your wings? Of you?' Dilandau smiled in a warm, mildly amused way. 'Of course not. Why should I be? I don't believe in curses anyway.' He stroked his hand across the downy inner feathers of Folken's wing again, 'They're fantastic and beautifu--'_

_Folken kissed him hard and pulled him into a tight embrace. His hand was shaking slightly; he could almost feel tears at his eyes. Every resentment he'd ever had for his heritage was draining away, leaving behind an ecstasy of perfect contentment and bliss._

He'd reached the door before hesitating, stepping slowly away and sinking back into his chair. Wet tracks ran down his face, tears having found several different paths over his cheeks. He sobbed and collapsed over the table. The compulsion to run across the ship and find Dilandau now was crushed back by logic and cowardice. He was probably asleep now, anyway. He probably wouldn't even talk to Folken.

The tears seemed unending. So many years of emotion scrambled to be expressed. Every thought and memory was screaming in a blur of confusion. The only thing he was sure of was that he needed Dilandau. More than anything else, he needed Dilandau back.


	16. Which is dirtier than most

It wasn't through breakfast and already Dalet and Chesta were having their first swearing match of the day. Voices were steadily rising, getting angrier and sharper as the words became fouler. Nobody bothered to notice what it was over this time. It didn't matter what the pretence was; the real reason was that they both just wanted to gut each other alive. Fights came more and more often now, and each time they seemed more likely to draw swords on each other.

Dilandau was listlessly watching the brewing fight, unperturbed and not looking as though he had any intentions of stopping it. He'd usually have slapped them and thrown something, yelling furiously and calling them morons, but he seemed now to be viewing it as a light drama. A few other Dragon Slayers glanced questioningly to him as he quietly ate, gazing mildly at the spectacle.

Chesta had started into slandering Dalet's lineage (a sore spot with Dalet who could remember his mother) and seemed to be aiming for a proper brawl. Before Dalet had left his seat, Chesta flinched, apparently kicked under the table by Viole. 'Shut up, Chesta, you're hurting my ears. It's too early to watch your lily ass get carted to the infirmary,' Viole's tone was bored and weary.

'Oh, what's wrong, Viole? Stayed up too late fucking Satan-incarnate last night?' Chesta snarled, turning his glare on Viole.

Viole looked ready to come back with something truly scathing, but seemed to think better of it and bit his tongue. Dalet happily picked up with 'Satan-incarnate? That is quite a title, isn't it? I'm not sure whether that's meant to be an insult or a compliment!' Viole ignored the renewed vicious argument over nothing and tilted his head to look up the table at Gatti, raising an eyebrow.

Gatti sighed and glanced again at Dilandau. He had an elbow on the table and was cradling his chin in his hand, entirely inattentive as he pushed a sausage (or maybe bread, it was rather hard to tell with this food) around his plate. The fight was just on the edge of turning physical; Slayers were starting to arrange their place settings so as to move them quickly out of harm's way.

They were both on their feet, the table between them, screaming a stream of foul curses at each other. Gatti stood and walked round the table to Dalet, the more likely to lunge across it and begin a grossly mismatched assault. 'It's not worth it Dalet,' he said calmly, pulling Dalet's arm back in the direction of his forgotten seat.

'You mean _he's_ not worth it! He's not worth _anything!_ He's not worth _defending_ and he doesn't _deserve_ it!' Dalet shouted furiously in Gatti's face.

'And it's my business who I choose to defend, isn't it? So stop--' Gatti's eyes went wide in shock, which wasn't so good because he ended up with coffee in them. Chesta's cup neatly hit his shoulder-guard and spun about, splashing coffee down his collar before hitting him in the jaw.

He didn't have much time to be shocked and offended for how quickly he had to restrain Dalet as he screamed and carried on murderously. The situation had obviously gone beyond the usual temporary truce Gatti managed to inflict and Dalet was being very difficult to hold back. Dalet was threatening to remove Chesta's spine through his nose when Gatti resignedly dragged him out of the room.

'You done?' Gatti asked when Dalet stopped fighting.

'Yeah. Let me go,' Dalet answered in an angry tone.

'Promise you're not going to run back in there and turn him to paste?'

'Yeah.'

Gatti let Dalet go in a slow, cautious way, making sure he didn't ignore the promise and bolt. True to his word, Dalet straitened up and turned calmly back to face Gatti. Then he slapped him hard across the face.

'HEY!' Gatti protested in outrage.

'HE THREW COFFEE AT YOU, YOU PRIDELESS FUCK!' Dalet screamed furiously.

'I noticed,' Gatti growled.

'And yet you still defended him. STOP IT!' Dalet threw out another slap, which Gatti dodged. '_He_ clearly doesn't want you defending him in front of _dear_ Lord Dilandau, so why the fuck _do_ you?'

'You'd massacre him,' Gatti shrugged.

'Cripple him permanently, put him out of armed service, get rid of the prick...' Dalet said with relish, 'The whole unit would be better without him here. Especially you. He's a complete bastard. Just stay out of it and let me cripple him.'

'No,' Gatti sighed annoyedly, drifting away, back to the Dragon Slayers' cluster.

'I'm worried about you, Gatti,' Dalet said quietly following him.

'Oh for gods' sake!' Gatti scoffed.

'I'm serious. You're letting him walk all over you,' Dalet's voice was low and sullen, one of the rare occasions he spoke with earnest concern. 'When did you get so weak?'

'I've always been weak,' Gatti answered wistfully, lightly pressing the button next to the door into the common living area.

'Not like this,' Dalet said in almost a mumble, following him across the room, round the couches and chairs. 'You're a doormat.'

'I'm not a doormat,' Gatti found his voice to sound sulky, knowing it was true. He got into the bedroom and stopped, realizing he had nothing to do there. He'd just let his feet take him wherever they wanted. And suddenly he felt so tired. He curled up on his bed, knowing he looked as weak and tired as he felt.

'Yes you are,' Dalet sighed, sitting next to him and unclipping his shoulder-guards. They were wretched things, only vaguely something like comfortable (or at least not uncomfortable) when standing up straight and only for a few hours before they got irritating, awkward, and heavy. 'You're letting yourself be. You've stopped caring about yourself again. It scares me.'

Gatti snorted, shifting his weight slightly as Dalet wound his arms around Gatti's waist. 'I'm fine. Just leave me alone,' he said softly, letting Dalet push his coat away and unfasten is belt.

'You've been worse this week,' Dalet murmured, sliding his hands into Gatti's pants. 'It's Dilandau, you're upset because he's upset... Tell him you're in love with him.'

'... He doesn't need to loose any more friends to lust,' Gatti said dully.

'T's not lust,' Dalet's voice was muffled from licking Gatti's neck, 'You're ass over teakettle for that boy.' He giggled lightly, 'You taste like coffee.'

Gatti gazed at nothing, his mind trudging slowly around the idea, 'He's still hung up on Folken.'

'And needs a nice guy like you to bring him out of it.'

'"Nice guys finish last",' Gatti reminded him bitterly.

'That's why you need a mean bastard like me to look out for you,' Dalet chuckled.

Smiling very slightly, Gatti closed his eyes to let Dalet's hands ease negative thoughts away. His mind refused to be quieted though, doubts and arguments constantly presenting themselves. 'If it went bad... I don't want to loose him as a friend.'

'Coward,' Dalet accused and made an expert movement to draw a moan out of Gatti's lungs.

After a few erotic gasps, Gatti got control of his diaphragm enough to respond, 'Yeah. You have a point?'

'Nothing good will ever happen in your life if you keep being afraid to let it,' Dalet bit at his ear.

'That's easy for you to say, isn't it?' Gatti snorted. 'Do you have any friends you haven't slept with?'

'Miguel,' Dalet sulked.

'And not for lack of trying certainly,' Gatti rolled his eyes.

'He's warming up to me...'

'He's just stopped hating you.'

'That's a start.'

'And here you're calling me pathetic...' Gatti muttered annoyedly.

'At least I'm trying. I don't make some secret of it.'

'You only want him because he refused you.'

'He was the first one who ever refused me...'

'Is there a name for what's wrong with you?' Gatti sighed.

'Probably.'

There was relative quiet for a while, interrupted by gasps from Gatti as Dalet increased pressure and speed. His mind was still running, still prodding at his consciousness with troubles. It nagged him unendingly, despite his best attempts to ignore it. 'I don't want to be a replacement for Folken,' he was almost tearful when he said that, a lump rising in his throat and pushing his voice higher than normal. 'I don't want to be a stand in. Not him. I couldn't stand _him_ to say someone else's name...'

Dalet paused. He gave a slight, involuntary shudder as horror washed over him, 'Have I ever...?'

'A few times...' Gatti nodded vaguely. 'It's always "Miguel".'

'I'm sorry,' Dalet said and really sounded it.

'Don't worry about it.'

There was an awkward moment. Unusual, despite how awkward any time spent with Dalet should have been. Had he not known Dalet, and fully expected this sort of thing, Gatti would have probably been struck more by how awkward the current conversation in association with the current activity was.

Reverting back to the former topic, Dalet said, 'You should tell him.'

'Does it even occur to you how weird this is?' Gatti asked with something akin to amusement.

'What?'

'Never mind,' Gatti sighed, tilting his head up to look at the clock. 'Breakfast is over.'

Dalet held his mouth close to Gatti's ear, softly breathing, 'Moan for me again...'


	17. In which Dilandau is lonely

'You're still up?'

Gatti looked up from the book he hadn't been reading as Dilandau stepped quietly into the Slayers cluster. 'Yeah,' he nodded, watching Dilandau creep over to the modpodge of furniture and sit next to him. 'My brain won't shut up.'

'About what?' Dilandau asked quietly, hardly disturbing the silence of night.

'... Just stuff. Y'know, life, death, whatever...' Gatti replied vaguely, looking away.

Dilandau nodded, gazing at a tear in the upholstery. His eyes were darkened to a rich wine color in the lamplight. He looked worn and tired. Tired but unable to rest.

'You look terrible.'

'Thanks,' Dilandau snorted sarcastically.

There was a pause while they thought their respective, bleak thoughts. It was horrible. '... They say the darkest hour is before dawn.'

Dilandau chuckled bitterly, 'Is this an attempt to cheer me up?'

'A feeble one,' Gatti shrugged. 'I hate seeing you like this.'

Dilandau looked at him for a while, thoughts flickering behind his burgundy eyes as he considered Gatti. 'Gatti?' he said softly, as though about to ask one of those irritatingly unanswerable questions of the universe.

'Hm?'

He leaned forward and cupped a hand round the back of Gatti's neck, pulling him into a kiss. Gatti flinched in surprise. It wasn't a particularly sweet kiss, overly aggressive with a strong sense of desperation.

Gatti was sitting on Dilandau's bed, his coat being stripped off, when he next had any care to think. Dilandau was kissing his ear, neck, trailing kisses along his collarbone. He found his arms wrapped around Dilandau's waist and drawing him closer. The thought that stabbed into his mind was that this was very cruel and wrong.

He pushed Dilandau away, 'Stop.'

'Why? You're into it,' Dilandau observed, breathing hard and slightly flushed.

By the gods, he was beautiful. 'Why are we doing this?' Gatti stalled to think, keeping Dilandau at arm's length.

' I want to, you want to, why the hell not?' Dilandau demanded, batting away Gatti's arms and pushing him onto his back.

'What are you trying to do?' Gatti asked frantically, trying to right himself.

'You!'

'This isn't--'

'Shut up!' Dilandau shouted, pushing Gatti back again and following him down, locking their mouths together in another kiss.

The prevailing arguments in his mind were that he should give up fighting (the most compelling argument, despite it's lack of much logical support) versus the idea that this was exactly the hysterical, dishonest kind of amour he'd been afraid of.

'Stop!' Gatti gasped, pushing him away again. 'I'm asking you to stop, Dil, seriously.'

Dilandau sat back, dipping his head and putting his eyes into shadow. 'I want to feel right again...'

'I know...' every scrap of sense was telling Gatti that he was an idiot. 'I...' he faltered, taking Dilandau's hands and cupping them in his own. 'This'll just be like rubbing salt in a wound...' It already was, of course.

It was the sudden shudder he could feel through Dilandau's hands that made him look up. Dilandau was staring at him, looking vaguely horrified. 'I'm sorry,' Dilandau's voice caught in a squeak. 'Gods, I'm so sorry,' he sobbed, bringing his hands to his face. 'I didn't see it...' he shook, his eyes closed for a moment before throwing his arms around Gatti again, this time more like a child seeking forgiveness. 'I'm sorry...' he sobbed miserably as Gatti sat frozen. '... Why couldn't I have fallen for you?'

If a stab in the heart could be sweet... 'Shhhhhh...' Gatti stroked Dilandau's hair. He'd had a fair amount of practice comforting with no real comfort to offer, as Dalet's occasional bouts of inconsolable depression usually had no reason behind them and therefor no argument against crying like the world was ending. 'All pain fades with time,' one of those stockpot sort of things to say that didn't apply specifically to anything and yet related to everything.

'I hate this place,' Dilandau whimpered. 'Why am I here? I hate this place...'

'You're exhausted,' resorting to the most universal comfort there was, 'Go to sleep. It'll be better in the morning...'

'Stay with me,' Dilandau pleaded pathetically, curling his arms tighter around Gatti.

'Okay,' Gatti said, knowing he'd regret it.

It was hard to tell when Dilandau had fallen asleep because he kept crying. The crying had changed somewhat, to congested whimpering interlaced with fairly unintelligible words. 'Are you asleep?' Gatti whispered after a while. There was no change in the soft crying. He sighed and stared dismally into the surrounding darkness.

He was crying as well when the radio mounted next to the door crackled to life. The voice connected to the name Dilandau had been whimpering cut through the air, preceded by a loud beep. 'Dilandau,' Folken's voice came through the receiver in a sharp, clangy way.

Dilandau's arms tightened around Gatti, making him feel sick and shaky. 'Hey,' he whispered softly, shaking Dilandau as the radio went on.

'The Dragon has been found headed in the direction of Freid.'

Dilandau sat blearily up, 'What?'

'You are to intercept it as soon as possible.'

'Fine, fine... Twenty minutes. Is he alone?' Dilandau rubbed his hands over his face.

'Yes.'

'Prep five melefs,' he snapped back in the stronger voice that he used when giving orders. He then flicked on the lamp and looked about the room confusedly, 'Where's my coat?'

'Couch, I think,' Gatti pulled on his boots and listened to the light click of the radio cutting out. He had the suspicion that Dilandau very much wanted Folken to know Gatti was there. He wondered if it was intended to inspire jealousy or show that he'd already gotten over Folken. Either way, Gatti was being used as a weapon. Like another stab in the heart.

'Well played,' he said softly.

Dilandau looked back at him, eyes widening then drooping, looking ashamed. 'I'm sorry...'

'You've been saying that a lot,' Gatti answered in a cool, uninterested way, picking up his own coat and leaving as quickly as he could. He desperately needed coffee before going on another mission and needed even more to get away from Dilandau's confused lamentation.


	18. In which they go ahunting

'Miguel! Dalet! Chesta!' Dilandau's voice snapped Miguel out of a muddled dream. 'The hunt's back on! Be in the hanger in ten minutes, ready to go!' he ordered loudly before leaving, the door sliding shut and leaving darkness behind him.

'Time 's't?' Dalet's voice mumbled sleepily.

'Two-sixteen,' Miguel glanced at the little glowing clock perched on his headboard.

'...Ten minutes... can sleep another five...' Dalet decided.

'Get up,' Miguel yawned, searching for his duffel.

'Lights,' Chesta warned in a feint, scratchy voice, flicking the lights on.

'Ngh!' Dalet whined, pulling his blankets over his head.

'Get up. I'm gonna start throwing stuff at you.'

'... W' kind of stuff?'

'You're boots, then I'll see what I can find that's heavier,' Miguel grinned, pulling on his own boots.

'... I hate you with the fires of a thousand hells,' Dalet assured him, but must have sat up as Miguel could hear the bed slats shift slightly above his head.

'Shut up,' Guimel murmured from across the room. 'Some of us don't have to be awake now, y'know.'

'So rub it in, shithead!' Dalet nearly yelled, dropping less than gracefully to the floor.

'Where's Gatti?' Chesta asked in a half-rhetoric way, looking down at Gatti's empty and neatly made up bed as he fastened on his sword belt.

'Having a slumber party with Dilandau,' Dalet chirped merrily in the obnoxious voice he used when trying (and succeeding) to upset Chesta.

'He's probably already up,' Miguel broke in. It was far too early for one of their fights.

Chesta snorted, more angry than derisive, and swept out of the room. As soon as the door had closed sniggers broke out.

'Oh he's mad, Dalet. I think he's gonna beat you up!' Viole laughed, muffled through his blankets.

That made Guimel burst into a loud laugh, 'Can't have you spreading such nasty rumors about his one true love!'

'Four minutes, Dalet,' Miguel announced, heading to the door. 'You're gonna be running.'

'I'm coming,' Dalet whined, hurrying after him with his jacket unzipped and sword tucked under an arm.

'Slacker.'

'I'm a _pro_crastinator.'

'It was funny the first time,' Miguel rolled his eyes. 'Jokes are _not_ the sort of thing that get better with age.'

'But anything's funny at this hour,' Dalet grinned, buckling his sword belt and matching stride with Miguel.

'That's not a definite rule.'

'Between one and four, everything is funny. Law of the universe.'

Miguel chuckled and Dalet crossed his arms in a firm, triumphant way.

In the hanger, they hurried down to the Alseides drop where preparations were being made to leave. As they closed the last few feet, Dilandau whirled around and slapped them both hard with the back of his hand. 'Late!' he snapped angrily.

'Please excuse me, Lord Dilandau,' Miguel and Dalet said in chorus, dipping their heads.

'Get the hell ready,' he waved them off.

'We _are_ in a hurry,' Miguel mused.

'A kiss for good luck, lovely Miguel?' Dalet asked, tilting his head and grinning optimistically.

'No means no, Dalet,' Miguel tossed back as he climbed up to his cockpit.

A few moments later, Dalet's voice crackled in over the radio, 'I'm sure not in _all_ languages.'

Miguel grinned. 'In every one I speak, it does. Besides, we're five against one, I don't think we need a lot of luck.'

'Good luck charm never hurt--'

'If you two are quite _done_,' Dilandau's voice cut through fiercely.

'Yes, sir,' they answered promptly.

In a few minutes they were airborne. They glided over forestland slightly to the north of Freid, scanning the trees carefully. 'Eleven-o-clock, is that him?' Dilandau's voice crackled over the speaker to the left of Miguel's head. There was something metal moving there, catching the moonlight now and then.

'Confirmed.'

'Flank him,' Dilandau ordered crisply and they descended, dropping in among the trees in a five-point pattern around the Dragon. 'Stealth cloaks,' he ordered them into invisibility and they melted further into the dark of the forest. 'Move in to thirty yards.'

They crept closer, snapping tree branches and saplings, clearing a path as they strode it, sneaking in towards the enemy guymelef. It was aware of them now, swinging around, trying vainly to catch sight of them. There were people sitting on the shoulders, girls in pink and yellow, clinging to it and looking terrified.

'Let's make this clean. This is a pretty trafficked area,' Dilandau said calmly, no trace of emotion in his voice. 'Gatti.'

Gatti obediently shot crima claw ribbons of metal towards the Dragon from behind. It jumped sideways, out of danger. For that attack, at least. It again dodged attacks from Chesta and then Miguel. Miguel saw as it leapt away, the girl in pink, leaning backwards and pointing directly at him, almost seeming to look strait into his eyes. He gasped.

'What the hell are you doing?' Dilandau demanded. 'You're missing!'

'He dodged!' Chesta declared defensively.

'He can't see you!' Dilandau snarled back.

'He did dodge,' Miguel said more quietly, trying to catch a glimpse of the pink girl again. 'It's like he can see us...'

'Bullshit,' Dilandau spat. 'Just hit him, but _try_ not to kill him.'

The way he emphasized the word 'try' made it clear he meant the opposite. Not that they hadn't guessed that before. Miguel found that completely aside from Dilandau's disturbing melancholy, he did have the chilling urge to destroy that guymelef, and the girl in pink, as quickly as possible. There was something very wrong in the air.


	19. In which water sucks

'Don't let him get away.'

'He's headed for the river,' Miguel said into his receiver.

'We'll loose invisibility,' Gatti's voice cautioned.

'We don't need it,' Dilandau said firmly. 'Clever move, but we outnumber him and he's an amateur anyway.'

They dropped into the river, perfectly circling the sixth guymelef. It took a battle ready stance, raising its sword defensively. The girls that had been on its shoulders were gone. Miguel made a mental note to find the one in pink later. There was something damn creepy about her.

'Immobilize him. All of you. Catch him in crima. Arms and legs,' Dilandau directed calmly. 'Ready?'

Short, affirmative responses were given back.

In a rather terrifying, hate-filled voice, Dilandau shouted, 'NOW!'

The Escaflowne fought for only a few brief moments before it was pinned in place from every angle. It stood stationary in the water, with not an inch of slack to move one way or another.

'It doesn't matter if you can see us or not,' Dilandau chuckled through the exterior speaker on his guymelef. He had a spike of metal pressed against the faceplate of the Dragon, aimed strait for where the pilot's head would be within. 'You've been a thorn in my side too long, Van,' he said in a low, rich voice. The metal faceplate of the Escaflowne started to visibly crack under the pressure. 'Maybe I'll just crush you right here...'

'Ship from the north,' the stratagos's voice broke through on the radio.

Before Miguel could shift enough to see north, a seventh guymelef had splashed into the water and cut away Chesta's crima claw that bound the Escaflowne's arm. In a flurry of motion the newly arrived combatant had cut enough of the Dragon's binds for it to free itself.

The Asturian guymelef had a _very_ good pilot and seemed to be considerably more maneuverable in the river than the Alseides model. It swept forward quickly, unbothered by the drag of the water and sliced into Gatti. Miguel realized after a moment that Asturia did not standardize their guymelef make so that was, in fact, the same guymelef that had defended the Dragon at Costelo and Palas. Allen Schezar, one of Asturia's 'Heavenly' Knights.

Miguel started moving when he saw the Dragon take off Dalet's right arm at the elbow. The water felt like molasses. Miguel's melef was moving painfully slowly through it. His stealth cloak was dragging and feet sucking into the soft mud of the riverbed.

Dalet was _not_ a sloppy pilot. He was one of the best fighters among them (partially because he seemed to have no regard for his life or anyone else's). He fought like a rabid animal. And the Dragon, who was most definitely a sloppy pilot, had just cut away his left arm at the shoulder.

'SHIT!' Dalet screamed, falling backwards into the water as the Dragon raised its sword for a killing blow.

'_Damn it!_' Miguel flicked his melef into flight mode and gave a kick out of the water. The moment he was in the air he punched it back to land mode and dropped onto the Escaflowne from above.

It whirled around catching and removing his own arm before he could strike. It was almost unbelievable how fast that thing could move. It moved like a human, not a machine. So that's why Ispano guymelefs were so highly valued. He'd never seen anything that so perfectly mimicked the maneuverability of a living thing.

Its left hand was fisted and rocketing towards him. Miguel screamed louder than he ever had as the metal buckled and crumpled around him. At first he'd thought he was dead, as he watched the arm retract, his vision unhampered by the usual metal walls of his cockpit. Then he looked around and realized that the entire head of his melef had been shattered and there he sat, open and unprotected, with air rushing past his ears.

It was the most terrifying thing he'd ever known. He couldn't even scream as he watched the Escaflowne drive its sword into his melefs side and fling him away. How could it be strong enough to toss him so easily? It was little stockier than the flimsy, thin style Asturian guymelefs were made in. It shouldn't have enough weight, much less power, to launch an Alseides like that.

He heard someone scream his name before he hit the ground and felt a pain in the back of his head and then his vision swam into darkness. The last thing he thought, in a light, silly sort of way, was that maybe he could have used a good luck kiss.


	20. In which a radio meets its sad demise

Dilandau was screaming furiously at the intercom in the hanger. He was almost unintelligible to the slayers standing right next to him as he screamed and bludgeoned the receiver. Dalet had quickly joined with both helping him destroy the communications terminal and screaming at it as loud as possible.

Gatti cringed at the incomprehensible noise. He felt a headache, not so much coming on as _avalanching_ towards him.

'YOU MOTHER FUCKING--'

'--SMITE YOU ALL--'

'--HOPE YOU--'

'--TARTURUS'S FIRE--'

'--BY THE LIVER--'

'--SKIN YOU LIKE A BEAR--'

'--PIG RAPING--'

'--CRUSH YOUR SKULL IN--'

'--STAB YOU SO MUCH--'

'--SO BAD YOUR _CHILDREN'S_ CHILDREN--'

'--EYES OUT AND--'

'--USE YOUR GUTS FOR A BELT--'

'--WAS A CRACK WHORE--'

'--FLAY YOU FROM HEAD TO--'

'--NEVER FIND YOUR BONES--'

'--ROAST YOU ALIVE AND SERVE IT TO--'

'--SHIT EATING DENDROPHELIACS--'

'--THE DEMONS WILL CRY!'

Gatti groaned and pressed his hands over his ears, dipping his head and pressing his eyes shut. In some ways it was a little relieving watching them tantrum like he hadn't since the age of four. In _most_ ways (headache included) it made everything a whole lot worse.

Gatti looked up at Chesta, who leaned passively against the wall outside of the demolition zone. Chesta glanced back at him after a moment and shrugged uselessly. Much help he was. Gatti was the one who broke up fights, and though the... adversary?... may be inanimate, this did rather look like a fight.

'_SHUT UP!_' Gatti screamed over the din, startling Dilandau and Dalet out of their random acts of violence. 'They can't _hear_ you! It's _broken_ already!'

They all stared at him for a moment, looking vaguely shocked. Did he really not yell that often? No, he really didn't. Gatti realized his hands were still over his ears and let them drop. 'And you two screaming like children isn't going to help anything anyway,' he sighed tiredly.

Dilandau crumpled down to his knees and gazed at the floor. 'I've never lost a soldier...' he whispered shakily.

'It's not _your_ fault!' Dalet's raging obviously wouldn't dissipate so easily. 'It's those _fucking bastards!_ The lift _should_ have _been_ there! It _should_ have picked him _up!_ It was already _out!_ Why the _fuck_ would those _shitheads_ order it back _empty?_'

'Because they're shitheads, _obviously_,' Dilandau snapped, pushing himself back to his feet. 'They'll keep him as a prisoner. They wouldn't be stupid enough to kill him. We have time to get him back alive,' he started walking brusquely away.

'Where are you going?' Gatti asked nervously.

'To see the general. His orders overrule Folken's and he's not so worried about keeping good relations with a country we're about to destroy,' Dilandau snorted, leaving the hanger.

Gatti stood there a moment, his mind still going round in circles as it had been since well before the battle. He swallowed and closed his eyes, coming to a decision. 'Don't kill anybody,' he said over his shoulder to Dalet as he made to leave the hanger himself.

'I'm not making any promises,' Dalet growled.

'Don't.'

'I _know. Fuck_, you think I'm _that_ unstable?'

Gatti ignored him and left.


	21. In which Folken is jealous

Folken looked up as a Slayers' uniform caught his eye. It was the lieutenant, Gatti, Dilandau's friend. He had a suspicion that was the one that had been in Dilandau's room last night. He closed his eyes a moment, again trying to dissipate the jealousy he'd been grappling with the last few hours.

He walked right to Folken, looking disconcertingly purposeful. 'What did he do to the radio?' Folken asked in an annoyed, sharp voice before the Slayer could open his mouth.

'Demolished it, rather,' the lieutenant answered with a shrug. 'I don't claim to know anything about electronics, but it really doesn't look like it could be repaired.'

'More walking for you then, I suppose,' Folken said turning away to migrate to a more populated area of the bridge.

'Lord Folken,' the lieutenant's voice was softer. Definitely the voice over the radio. 'Talk to him. Please.'

Folken turned back, taking care not to show any sign of the effect the request had made on him. 'Why?' he asked simply, in a cool, flat tone.

The Slayer was gazing at the ground, looking somewhere between depressed and anxious. 'He's stuck. He's not thinking straight. He's not eating. He doesn't care about anything. All the time he's not working he just sits and stares at nothing or locks himself in his room and cries...'

'And what do you want me to do about it?' Folken asked quietly, feeling vaguely ill as he did.

'Talk to him!' the Slayer's voice rose slightly in both volume and pitch, 'End it better than that... It really was mean what you said. It hurts to feel used. It hurts a lot.' He closed his eyes for a moment, 'Just... talk to him... Give him some closure... something... so he can move on...'

'To you.'

'With life!' he barely stopped himself from fully shouting.

Folken almost snorted, turning away and going back to the main bridge, hearing the Slayer's footsteps, heavy with anger, retreating as well. Folken went on to spend most of the day stewing in irritation and jealousy. Logic reminded him that Dilandau wasn't his anymore. He decided that he hated logic. Like vultures they swarmed, eager to steal Dilandau (who wasn't his) from him.

And he wouldn't let them. Dilandau had to listen to him this time. One of his soldiers had been captured and there was the monk to deal with. It was all being arranged and Dilandau and he would have to talk before the new mission could start. Folken had a chance to catch him in conversation for a few moments and a chance to fix what he'd done.

Dilandau just glared at him and went out of his way to be unhelpful, when Folken later spoke in a calm, mechanical way, of business. The monk Plactu would be called in to put the captured soldier under hypnosis and interrogate him. Dilandau would help Zongi to intercept the ship on which Plactu would be riding. Simple, short, all explanations were over inside of ten minutes.

Dilandau got up, looking to make a quick exit after Zongi had left. The opportunity would be gone. Folken knew he wouldn't ever be able to talk to Dilandau if he didn't now. 'I'm sorry,' he said quietly, making Dilandau freeze mid-stride.

'Shut up,' Dilandau snapped quietly back, starting to move again.

'I'm sorry I said that. It wasn't true,' Folken persisted, standing up and facing him. 'I love you. I've never loved anyone so much.'

Folken's stomach sank as Dilandau glared at him. 'Oh another change of heart, is it?' he asked sarcastically.

'It was always the truth. I was just angry when I said that I didn't. I didn't mean it. You're the most important person in the world to me,' Folken closed his eyes, fighting to keep relative composure and say things that actually sounded meaningful. It was so much harder to talk to Dilandau when he was awake. 'I need you...'

'That's a shame,' Dilandau scoffed, walking to the door and opening it. He stood, silhouetted against the brighter hall lights for a moment and added before leaving, 'I'll never trust anything you say again.'


	22. In which Chesta is jealous

The doors weren't particularly conductive to sound, so Dilandau must have been screaming as loud as he possibly could. As soon as the door to his room had slid shut, all the Slayers in the main room jumped to the sound of furious screaming and thumps that may have been the door being punched and/or kicked repeatedly.

The entire scream had been a single breath, though it had maintained its volume for a surprisingly long time. All the Slayers present in the main room were staring at the door as the sound faded with a few more thumps.

'What... does... uhm...' Guimel faltered.

'Shit,' Gatti jumped off the couch and went for the door. It opened slightly before he reached it. 'You...' Dilandau look drained and sick, his face blotchy pink and white. Behind him, in the room, which was usually completely orderly, the few things he had to throw had been thrown all over. Even his sword appeared to have been thrown against the back wall and now lay dangerously half out of its sheath in the corner. 'You alright?' Gatti asked quietly.

Dilandau shook his head, sniffing. His eyes were closed and their lashes damp; he looked so miserable and pathetic.

He was leaning against Gatti, arms wrapped round his shoulders, the next moment. 'I need to talk,' he whispered shakily. 'Will you listen to me?'

He was distraught. He was completely ignoring, or not noticing, that there were a dozen other people in the room. And Chesta among them. Gatti's lips twitched slightly, knowing Chesta must be absolutely green. 'Mhm,' he nodded, reminding himself that what was important was that Dilandau was sad and not that Chesta was insanely jealous.

Although that was a plus.

Dilandau's voice was soft and monotone as he recounted the past half-hour. His arms were shaking as he clung to Gatti, his face pressed lightly against Gatti's chest, but his breath was steady and his eyes dry.

He'd done it himself. He'd gained control and ended the relationship on his own terms. It was the best thing possible. Gatti stroked his hair and kissed his forehead and knew that Dilandau belonged to him now.

Dilandau fell asleep in his arms again; not fitfully or crying this time. His breath was soft and calm as he was wrapped in a thick, heavy, healing sleep.

Gatti hugged him happily and crooned to him lightly as he slept. 'Beautiful, sweet angel,' he cooed, stroking his hand through Dilandau's soft hair, 'Do you love me for now and ever?'

Dilandau made a sound in his throat, something like a purr. He spoke in his sleep, Gatti mused, would he answer then? His lips parted minutely to let a sweet, happy whisper slip past. '... Folken...' Dilandau breathed.

The urge to puke was the first thing that came to Gatti. Next was a desolate sense of defeat and after that a desperate need to get far away very quickly. Dilandau protested slightly at his retreat with a soft whine. Gatti pulled the blanket back over Dilandau before nearly running out of the room.

He let his knees buckle in the common area and crumpled, clinging to the back of a couch for support. 'Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!' he whispered to the couch, exhausted and despairing. He'd been wide-awake moments ago; he could have stayed awake all night watching Dilandau sleep. Now he felt close to passing out.

It was late, or maybe early, and the bedroom was already pitch-black and filled with the light sounds of sleeping breath. In the light thrown through the doorway from the main room, he could see Chesta sitting cross-legged on the bunk above his own, glaring sullenly at the door. 'Back before dawn, even! What a surprise!' Chesta whispered sharply.

'Can we pretend you're already _done_ bitching at me?' Gatti snorted quietly back.

'Is there anything or anyone in this world you have _any_ respect for?' Chesta hissed angrily. Despite how quiet he was, Gatti could hear the congestion in his voice. He'd been crying _again_.

'What the fuck is your problem?'

'... You're such a heartless bastard...' Chesta was sniffling again.

'Oh? Why now?' Gatti demanded quietly, 'Am I taking advantage of dearest Dilandau? Fuck off. We didn't do anything. He's still obsessed with Folken.'

'Not used to being ignored? Poor baby,' Chesta scoffed, shifting, dropping to his back and rolling away.

Gatti gritted his teeth and lay down, glaring into darkness and trying to ignore the soft sniffling overhead. Above and beyond anyone else, Chesta hated the thought of Gatti getting Dilandau. He'd rather it be Folken even, though he considered him an old lech, just so long as it wasn't Gatti. His rival attitude was worse now than ever and Gatti was now ready to return it fully. If he couldn't have Dilandau, he'd be glad to see him with anyone else in the world if it wasn't Chesta.


	23. In which Folken gets punched a third tim...

'Is Zongi with you?'

'No, he died.'

'What do you mean?' Folken stared up at the monitors.

'He's turned off his radio, Lord Folken!' a bridge officer to his right said timidly.

Folken whirled on the officer, 'Well turn it back on!'

'I-I think--' the officer faltered, his hands flying over his controls, '... I don't know what he's done... His radio's not responding... Damn it, he's on an emergency frequency!'

'So switch to that frequency,' Folken ordered, bringing his voice back down to a quieter level.

'I can't,' the officer looked up in a scared, apologetic way. 'Only guymelefs and the main base can access it.'

'And the other two?'

'They've switched to the same frequency...'

Folken gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to scream. He turned and started out of the bridge.

'Where are you going?' General Adolfos rumbled.

'The hanger,' Folken shot back over his shoulder. Gein followed behind him, some other officers too. Dilandau had broken quite a number of rules just in switching radio frequencies. The general would, of course, cut Folken's authority out from under him and was likely to let Dilandau off with a slap on the wrists. The intermediate commanding ranks in the Red Copper army had been stumped for three years in any way to discipline the general's favorite prodigy.

And this was another unpunishable crime he'd pulled out of spite. Childish tantrums brought to a horrific level. That he had ever thought Dilandau mature... No drugs this time, no excuses, just cold blooded murder. And over _what?_ What was his aim, to _punish_ Folken? As if his scorn weren't punishment enough, he had to turn into an entirely different person now.

The three Alseides reached the hanger shortly after the party from the bridge. Dilandau's flight function wasn't working properly appearently, but after the first Slayer's capture, it looked as though they weren't trusting the lift to pick up damaged units any more. The other two were somewhat dragging him, though they looked to have suffered a fair amount of damage as well.

'What do you mean he's dead?' Folken demanded loudly as soon as Dilandau became visible, throwing off his yoke and jumping out of the machine.

'THAT FUCKER KILLED MIGUEL!' Dilandau screamed back loud enough to cause permanent hearing damage to everyone else in the room.

Dilandau was storming across the room, no remorse, or even worry for the consequences, on his face. 'He deserved a _thousand times_ more horrible death than _I_ gave him! He _strangled_ Miguel to keep him from _giving him away!_ Like that _purple fuck_ knew anything about _loyalty!_'

'So you _killed_ him?' Folken struggled for some argument that made sense, 'You can't just--'

Dilandau lashed out a vicious punch strait into Folken's face. 'I HATE YOU!' he screamed stamping his foot for emphasis.

'A week's probation, Dilandau,' General Adolphos said mildly as the angry trio blew out of the hanger.

'Yes sir!' Dilandau's voice was high and angry, no note of satisfaction that usually came with such a light punishment for his offences.

_'I hate you'..._ Folken shivered, keeping his hand over his face, not so much from the pain of the blow but to hide the empty horror he was sure must be painted all over it. He felt like dying on the spot. Wished he would. Wished he'd never met Dilandau.


	24. In which Dalet tries to kill Chesta

Chesta regretted walking into the main room the instant he spotted Dalet. He sat curled in a chair, looking bloodthirsty. Chesta had managed to not be noticed by Dalet since Miguel was killed; Dalet was too busy moping to go looking for a fight. But now he seemed to have moved into rabid anger. Chesta tried to avoid eye contact and Dalet, of course, noticed.

'What?' Dalet demanded furiously.

'Nothing.'

'Afraid of me, Chesta?'

'No.'

Dalet chewed on his lip, looking thoughtfully at Chesta.

'What, you going to beat me to paste now?' Chesta glared defiantly back at him.

Dalet shook his head, a vicious smile pulling across his lips. 'Doesn't hurt you,' he said softly.

'So what, you have a better strategy now?' Insults it would be. Dalet knew as well as anyone that he cried more for words than punches, but Dalet didn't know much that could really hurt him.

'How long has Gatti been here?' Dalet seemed to get distracted. 'It's... three years? Yeah, he came in in the last year of training.'

'I know. I've been here longer than _you_,' Chesta snorted. 'What does that have to do with anything?'

'Four months before I got him... He lost it to me. That was sweet,' Dalet mused with a slight smile.

What was he doing? 'Why the fuck should I care?'

'But he's more fun now. I love the sound he makes when he comes,' Dalet said breezily, fidgeting with his sleeve.

Chesta felt sick. 'How did you get to be such a whore?'

'More economics involved with whores,' Dalet grinned, apparently amused by Chesta's expression.

'Didn't one of the older boys in training camp make you his child-toy?' Chesta said quietly. He'd never used the rumors he'd heard about Dalet against him before.

Dalet's eyes widened, and he turned his head to glare furiously at Chesta. 'Fucking lily, you don't know anything,' he hissed.

'How old were you, ten, when you got punked?' Chesta's hands were fisted and shaking at his sides.

It was only because the chair tripped Dalet and slowed him down that Chesta managed to draw his sword and parry a deadly swing. 'I'm going to _kill_ you, Chesta,' Dalet growled as he pushed Chesta back. He was serious this time. His eyes were murderous. He meant it now.

Chesta was terrified, and swordsmanship wasn't his strength to begin with. He watched his sword spin away across the floor with a horrified kind of calm. Dalet's sword was still raised, but then he threw it away and lunged forward, instead catching Chesta by the neck.

It's difficult for ruddy brown eyes to look that cold. There's an inherent warmness that seems to be associated with the color. Still, Dalet managed to capture a chill more intense than any winter storm in his glare. At the same time it seemed to burn with a homicidal furry. Heat and chill caught together, roiling and swirling like a forming thunderhead.

The corners of Chesta's vision were beginning to fade into blackness and Dalet's eyes were quickly becoming all he could see. His lungs seemed to sting, burn and ache at once and pain and numbness alternately flowed through his body. His arms became too heavy to keep aloft and fell limply away, no longer fighting for freedom from the deadly grip on his throat.

He heard a few shouts and the hold eased abruptly, enough for a painful gulp of air to slip through into his tortured diaphragm. Chesta pressed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on getting more air as Dalet's hands again tightened at the sound of his gasp.

'Let him go.'

'Or what?'

'Let him go.'

'What? You gonna kill me?'

'Now.'

'Not this time, Gatti...'

There was a shocked yelp and Chesta realized he was falling a moment after he hit the metal floor. He gasped and choked, the rhythm of blood rushing past his ears picking up its pace again. Prickly half-numbness seemed to enfold his mind as well as body and he didn't notice for a long while that someone was talking to him.

'You cut me... You cut me...' Dalet's voice whimpered feebly somewhere nearby.

Soft, cool green eyes, darkened with concern, stared back at Chesta as he opened his. Little red sparks still danced madly about in front of his eyes as he tried to focus, then gave up, letting the fuzzy confusion of color gradually solidify itself into Gatti, a metal ceiling and the back of a chair.

Gatti was leaned slightly over Chesta, patiently waiting for him to recover. The urge to push Gatti away was overpowered by the intense weariness that was refusing to be shaken.

'I can't believe you cut me...'

'You thought I'd just let you kill him?' Gatti glared to his right, where Dalet must be.

'Why do you keep sticking _your_ neck out for this _thankless prick?_' Dalet's tone hardened to a low, steady growl, rich with offended furry.

'I wouldn't let you kill anyone,' Gatti shot back, brushing Chesta's hair away from his eyes. 'How--' Chesta slapped his hand angrily away. He heard Dalet shout in rage and received a sharp kick in the side. '_Stop it!_' Gatti shouted.

Dalet moved, dropping down next to Gatti, glaring at Chesta. '_This_ is _exactly_ what I'm _talking_ about! Why the _fuck_ are you putting up with this _bullshit?_' Dalet demanded, swinging his glare around on Gatti.

'_Fuck off_,' Gatti hissed back, matching his glare.

'He _disrespects_ you,' Dalet growled in a low, thick voice. 'He fucking _despises_ you!' emotion rose in his voice with a ringing shrillness, he stood and flung out his arms for emphasis. '_Fuck!_ He's not even _hot!_'

'_Dalet,_ I swear--'

'Don't you have _any_ self respect?' Dalet demanded ferociously. 'You don't _need_ this _toy!_ _I'm_ better than _him_, _aren't I!_ Just stop _defending_ this _shithead!_'

Chesta closed his eyes, feeling sicker than ever.

'Don't look so _surprised_, fucktard. _Everybody_ knows about your little _affair_.' A vicious grin curled up the corner of Dalet's lips, 'Dilandau knows.'

'Che--'

Chesta used the punch he threw at Gatti as extra leverage in pushing himself off the floor and fleeing. He thankfully managed to reach the hall before collapsing. Standing up too fast can have that effect normally, but after being strangled half to death, Chesta found his vision fading into darkness again almost before he'd reached his feet. The last of the dull, shadowy images were engulfed in inky blackness as he felt his knees awkwardly hit the floor, then a shoulder, then his face.

Again shouting was the main thing he was aware of in his heavy half-consciousness. Muffled through the door, yet still impressively loud. Silence. Door. Footsteps.

'Oh gods, what now?' Gatti's voice came from next to him as Chesta's eyes were beginning to let themselves be opened again.

'Get off!' Chesta rasped, pushing Gatti away.

'Chesta--' Gatti started.

'You're such a complete fucking bastard! I can't believe you!' Chesta wailed and then coughed. He tried to get up again and fell back into Gatti.

'I didn't tell him! Viole saw us necking months ago,' Gatti protested.

Chesta stared at him incredulously. He closed his eyes a moment trying to put that together. Trying to make any sense of this. He was just a moron, that was all. 'You... I can't... Gods!' Chesta gave up and tried to get away again.


	25. In which Chesta cries a lot

_'Why are you always sad?' Gatti asked._

_'What reason would I have to be happy?' Chesta replied quietly, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall._

_Gatti shrugged, 'You have your health.'_

_'No, Zaibach has my health. I don't have anything. Not even myself,' Chesta said desolately. 'You're so lucky...'_

_Gatti nodded, feeling embarrassed and useless. He dropped down to the floor next to Chesta, 'I know... It's not like I chose to be here either though. I have to do five years to inherit, and I've only got sisters... I'm trapped in by family. Just another way to be trapped in...'_

_'Oh, you have a family. Poor you,' Chesta snorted._

_'Sorry. You're right. I can't complain at all,' Gatti couldn't remember ever feeling so embarrassed. He hated getting into this kind of discussion; half the Slayers were orphans and had been rather disdainful of him for coming from old-money when he first started._

_Chesta shook his head slowly, 'No, you're stuck here too. Just not as long. But nobody really wants to do this, do they...'_

_'If they did, there probably wouldn't be such a strict draft,' Gatti agreed. 'But there are volunteers.'_

_'I count that as insanity,' Chesta shook his head._

_'What are you going to do when you can leave?'_

_'I think... I'll work in a vineyard. I read a book about a vineyard once. It sounds so peaceful and pretty,' Chesta gazed ahead at the metal wall. 'Have you ever seen a vineyard?'_

_'Yeah,' Gatti nodded, studying the distant, wistful expression on Chesta's face._

_'Are they really beautiful?'_

_'The ones I've seen. There's a lot in the east, near the mountains. I think it rains more there.'_

_Chesta nodded slowly and then lowered his gaze. 'You're the only one who really talks to me any more,' he said quietly. 'Am I terribly annoying?'_

_'You were more last year, I think,' Gatti said uncomfortably. 'You were whiny, but you kind of grew out of that, I guess. You're... just kind of depressing now... most people think.'_

_'"Most people"?'_

_'Doesn't bother me,' Gatti flushed slightly. 'I mean, you're always sad, but not abrasive about it like some people... You're just... not trying to be someone else.'_

_Chesta almost smiled._

_On an impulse, Gatti leaned forward and kissed him._

And of course, Chesta was throwing a tantrum, as Gatti knew he would. He'd probably do something stupid, left to his own devices. Maybe go and try to fight Dalet again. Idiot.

'Leave me _alone!_' Chesta snapped, storming down the hall, looking for somewhere to hide.

Gatti didn't have anything to justify, anything to be sorry for, this was so stupid and even more predictable. 'I knew you'd do this! I knew you'd act like the world was ending! That's why I didn't tell you! It's not like it makes any difference!'

'Doesn't make a _difference?_' Chesta spun, facing Gatti again, his face now a furious red. 'How the _fuck_ doesn't it? I've been letting you fuck me bloody for ages and you've been _juggling_ me through all of it!'

That didn't make any sense. Suddenly Gatti wasn't sure what the argument was about. 'What the _hell_ are you talking about?'

'What the fuck do you _think?_' Chesta shouted back.

'I _thought_ you were throwing one of your usual whiny _fits_ because everyone knows you're not _"loyal"_ to your _fantasy world_,' Gatti said, trying to get his voice back in check.

Chesta glared, inhaling a slow, shaky breath. He was on the edge of tears, not an unusual state for him, and for no apparent reason. He turned and started stomping away again.

'Then _what?_' Gatti demanded, exasperated and irritated.

'"WHINY FIT"' Chesta screamed, whirling back around, now fully crying. '_Always_ INSULTS! _Everything_ out of your mouth is a _slight!_'

'What?'

'Talking to anyone else, now talking _to_ _me _now, it doesn't even _matter_ anymore! _Anything_ you say about me is _condescending and degrading!_' Chesta choked and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. His voice dropped to a ragged whisper, 'I _am_ nothing but a toy to you, _aren't_ I?'

'Wh...' Gatti fumbled for a response or even a clue. 'Since when do you care what _I _think?'

'When have I _not?_' Chesta sobbed miserably. 'I _always_ looked up to you. You were always nice to my face before, even when you did insult me behind my back...'

'I don't--'

'YOU DO! You _always_ have! Since you _got_ here it's nothing but _"annoying", "obnoxious", "brat", "whiney"_ always when you _thought_ I didn't hear it... I DID!' Chesta sobbed and hiccuped for a few minutes, pausing in the tirade as Gatti stared into space trying not to find memories of doing just that. Chesta's voice was at a low mumble when he started again, 'I _thought_ maybe you'd stop... I thought maybe you really _liked_ me... But you just started saying it to my face... not even _caring_ whether I heard or not...' He sobbed, 'It's like you gained some license over me... just added me to your harem and I was lower than dirt...'

Gatti watched him cry for a long time. A lump was rising in his own throat and he was starting to shake. When he spoke again, his voice was high with the suggestion of tears and he was shouting. 'You're the one who went back to pining over Dilandau!' Gatti protested desperate to turn the blame back on Chesta.

'When?' Chesta demanded, glaring up at him, his huge eyes shining and lashes spiked with tears.

Gatti faltered, loosing the assurance he'd had a few minutes ago, 'As soon... as you heard about Folken.'

Chesta's breathing seemed to calm slightly, enough to put power back into his words and make Gatti feel like a tantruming child. 'I've been watching creepy old leches try to take advantage of him since training camp. Since the beginning of training camp! Since he was _ten! _I remember him crying over it!' Chesta looked down at his fisted hands, 'Somebody threatened him... and he started being afraid to fight...' Chesta's eyes closed and he started to shake, 'I got so scared... Folken's almost twice his age and high enough that he could have hurt Dilandau's career. He loves being a commander... He never had anything to be proud of before...'

Gatti felt like puking. '... You weren't jealous?' he whispered feebly.

'Maybe a little...' Chesta's eyes were only half-open, unfocussed and clouded with tears. 'I was angry... but it wasn't at all like when Dalet started talking about _you_.'

'Dalet?'

'You've been carrying on with him this whole time, haven't you?' Chesta looked up, forlorn and miserable.

'...Yeah...' Gatti nodded doubtfully. Chesta was talking like they'd had some promise or something.

Chesta's eyes squeezed tightly shut and his head lowered. 'I know I'm awfully naive to have to have it pointed out to me...' he sniffled. 'I just liked to delude myself that maybe I meant something to you...'

'_Damn it, Chesta!_' Gatti shouted in frustration, wanting to hit something. '_Why can't you just tell me what you want?_'

'I don't know...' Chesta was shaking and still looking at the floor, 'Nobody's ever asked me...'

'You can't wait for them to!' Gatti caught Chesta's face and forced him to look up. 'Nobody cares what you think because you don't care enough to make them! You can't call yourself worthless and expect people to argue with you!'

Fresh tears with renewed vigor started up as Chesta cringed and crumpled away, hands coming to his face and shoulders drawn in. He looked like he'd been hit. But he never did that when he was hit. Bruised, sprained, broken, he didn't act hurt.

'I'm sorry,' Gatti whispered, watching Chesta press away from him into the wall. He was sobbing and gasping in a hysterical way, sounding like he'd make himself sick or pass out again.

Gatti caught his arms and pulled Chesta against him, hugging him closely and leaning his cheek against Chesta's. 'Don't play with me like this,' Chesta pleaded desperately.

'Games are over,' Gatti whispered and kissed his ear.


	26. In which Viole is bored

Dalet was crying and Gatti was the cause of it. Therefor, as Gatti was clearly not among the candidates for crying to, Dalet had decided to take up hysterically sobbing at Viole. Viole sighed in annoyance, staring at the underside of Guimel's bunk as Dalet clung to him and made his shirt uncomfortably sticky with blood and tears.

He turned his head to look at the clock. It had been more than ten minutes and Dalet's hysteria didn't show any sign of receding. Viole had never had to deal with Dalet like this before. He'd watched Dalet go into inconsolable, depressive fits, but Gatti had always taken care of him. Gatti had terrible timing. He _had_ to wait until just after Miguel kicked it to go and have a fight with Dalet.

Gatti petted Dalet's hair when he was crying. Viole had _been_ petting his hair and Dalet still wouldn't stop. He was loosing patience, wanting to just yell at Dalet to shut up. But that would just make it worse.

'Stop crying and I'll give you a blow job,' he tried after a while.

Aaaand he _still_ didn't stop. Damn.

'Dalet, I'm no good at this,' Viole whined. 'What do you want? What's it going to take to make you stop crying?'

Dalet's face lifted a few inches away from Viole's chest with his hair still obscuring it completely. 'You're such a cold bastard,' he mumbled.

'You know that,' Viole snorted lightly. 'Why'd you come to me if you didn't want to fuck?'

'I'll kill someone if I let myself be alone,' Dalet dropped back down against Viole's chest, wrapping his arms up round Viole's shoulders. 'Maybe myself,' he whispered more softly.

'Can you, for once, pretend you're not crazy?'

'Shut up,' Dalet mumbled back. 'Just hold me for a while and then I'll leave you alone.'

Viole growled irritably and draped his arms around Dalet wishing he were somewhere else. Dalet's breathing did quiet after a while and he stopped shaking. But he didn't make any move to let Viole go or initiate sex.

'You're asleep, aren't you?' No response. 'Oh for-- Gods, this is the least fun I've ever had pinned under you!'


	27. Which has a lot of blood in it

You're going to _KILL _him!_' Gatti screamed, trying to drag Dalet backwards._

_'Good,' Dalet whispered, shaking him away._

_Tieje's face was covered in blood that spattered all around when Dalet punched him again and again. But he was still breathing, so there was obviously more damage to do. He was holding his hands in front of his face now, trying to fend off the blows._

_Dalet caught his wrist in one hand and fingers in the other, drawing his hands closer together until he started to hear the horrible snap of bones and agonized screaming. Tieje's other hand was vainly clawing at Dalet's arms and face, trying feebly to fight back._

_'You've already lost, bastard,' Dalet hissed, grinning widely. 'You lost the moment you let me out of your sight...'_

_Another snap and a scream and Dalet was hit in the side of the face; punched or kicked, he wasn't sure. He was being dragged away by too many people to fight off. He threw two away, but others were there to restrain him. He screamed and struggled desperately. He had to kill Tieje._

_He tried to leap forward again when he was thrown against a wall, but was pinned back too quickly. 'LET ME GO!' Dalet roared, punching and kicking everything within his radius. 'Please!' he whined in a hoarse whisper. '_Please!_ I have to-- I have to--'_

Stop it!_' Gatti was to his right, had a hand on his shoulder and another holding his wrist. 'They'll put you in the _mines!_ You _idiot_, they'll fucking _hang_ you!'_

_Dalet gazed at Gatti for a while and let his muscles relax. He let himself be held against the cold, brick wall of the alley for a few moments before his restrainers were assured he wasn't going to try to run back into the bar and finish killing Tieje. He should be dead. They stepped cautiously back and gave a jump when Dalet threw himself at Gatti._

_His fingers kept slipping from the blood all over his gloves as he clung to Gatti and cried. He thought he cried for a long time. When he'd stopped the other soldiers that had helped pull him off Tieje were gone. Gatti was petting his hair and holding him as they kneeled on the damp, sticky ground._

_'Who was that?' Gatti asked him shakily._

_'An old "friend",' Dalet whispered softly, gripping Gatti tighter._

_"Not this time, Gatti..."_

_'Oh, get off!'_

_What?_

'Up! Off! Go ahead and miss dinner, but I am _not_ keeping you company!' Viole pushed Dalet onto the floor.

'Nhg...' Dalet pushed himself up dazedly and mumbled, 'Dinner?'

'You fell asleep,' Viole snorted, peeling off his undershirt, which was kind of crusty with blood, and looking revolted. 'Wash up, I can't eat anything if I'm looking at your gore.'

Dalet touched his neck. It was sticky and lumpy, more congealed in some places than others and crusted up in a lump over the small, tender slit a little to the left of his Adam's apple. It was barely a paper-cut, really, but that Gatti had done it was the real pain.

'I can't believe he cut me...'

'Stop baiting him. He has responsibilities,' Viole rummaged in his duffel for another shirt. 'If Chesta were halfway capable of hurting you he'd probably defend you. Stop being such a whiner.'

The door opened while Dalet was gazing at the ground, his mind pleasantly blank. A few steps, blue boots started to pass him then stopped. Back step.

'Holy crap, Viole! Cut your nails!' Guimel exclaimed. 'Or is that a bite?'

'Fuck you,' Viole snorted, retying his hair.

'Noooo thank you! I _value_ my blood,' Guimel snickered, moving around somewhere out of Dalet's line of sight.

'You coming or not?' Viole lightly kicked Dalet's leg.

'Meh,' Dalet shrugged.

There was a moment of quiet; the slight rustle of gestures out of his sight, and then Guimel leant down next to Dalet. 'They resupplied today, Dalet. I hear tell they picked up _beef_,' he said with a grin.

'Ooooh...' Dalet cooed.

'Come on, food awaits.' Guimel spat in a kerchief and started scrubbing at Dalet's face, 'How long has this been here?'

'Two hoursish,' Viole sat back on the edge of his bed.

'That is so disgusting...' Dalet griped, shrinking away from the cloth.

'And it's not going to work,' Guimel wrinkled his nose and gave up. 'You have no idea how bad you look, Dalet. You're hair's stuck in it over here.'

Dalet grumbled and pushed himself off the floor, stumbling lazily off to the bathroom. He really was a mess, he found, looking in a mirror. Blood was smeared up his cheek and all over his neck and collar. He made a face at himself and started working on the stubborn, dried blood.

He arrived late to dinner and spent most of it glaring across and over a few chairs at Chesta who was pretending not to notice and watching his plate. He looked fully recovered, unfortunately. He wasn't crying or moping either and that did _not_ sit well with Dalet.

When Dalet occasionally trained his glare on Gatti, he looked distant and vague, eating more slowly than usual and wrapped up in other thoughts. Chesta had reeled him back in again. Little, whiny bastard. What Gatti found interesting about the short, ugly, lily, punk was completely unfathomable, and how he kept his claws in Gatti, all the while killing him from the inside out.

He was taking Gatti away from Dalet, and Dalet wouldn't stand for it. Intimidating him didn't work, beating him senseless seemed to _help_ him, insulting him made him cry sometimes but wouldn't get rid of him. Only to cripple him would make him go away. But Dalet couldn't get away with that. Chesta had more immunity than he did. He'd managed to get pardoned for crippling Tieje, but Chesta was a pilot, worthless as he may be.

He'd just have to work on Gatti and get his favor back again.


	28. In which people laugh and make merry

The wind was coming from the west. Dilandau found the best place to sit in it. There were several exposed outer walks about the hanger and at least one of them would usually have a good wind whipping about it. His hair was flinging about indecisively and his ears were steadily getting colder and prickling with chill.

Wind has an odd kind of cold. As it's hitting, it makes ones skin feel colder than the flesh inside of it. That only makes sense, but it's an odd feeling having a shell of cold surrounding warmth. It feels surreal and sometimes makes one feel very light and strange.

It was, over all, a pleasant feel until his ears and nose started to hurt beyond ignoring. He opened his eyes, they instantly stung from the fierce beating of the air, and watched the darkened skyscape for a moment. The moon was fairly small now and he could see more stars than usual.

Pushing against the wall, he lifted stiffly to his feet and trudged back inside. It was instantly sweltering, as it tended to be when suddenly shifting from cold to mild warmth. Dilandau ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back for a moment and hooking his headband back over his ears. It was blissfully icy.

It was a fairly quiet night and he passed few people as he wandered leisurely around halls and ladders back towards his room. He traced his hand along walls occasionally as he went, hoping the metal might suck away some of the annoying heat that was coming back since his headband had warmed. He pulled off his gloves happily as soon as he reached the cluster and unzipped his jacket.

Gatti was still up again, but this time Chesta was curled with him on one of the couches, a foot hooked around Gatti's ankle and Gatti's arm round his shoulders. Their faces had been close together before they jumped slightly at the sound of the door and looked up, flushing slightly.

Dilandau forced his feet to keep moving without pause and said in an amused, casual tone, 'Doesn't anybody sleep anymore? I can't have the entire unit running on nothing but caffeine.'

'Three out of fifteen isn't a terrible ratio,' Gatti shrugged.

Dilandau paused, about to open the door to his room. 'Fourteen,' he said quietly and bit his lip.

There was a longer pause before Gatti's voice responded equally quietly, 'Yeah.'

Dilandau drifted into his room, feeling much heavier than he had a few minutes ago. He dropped his gloves on the floor, unclipped his belt and carelessly let his sword clank against the floor as he trudged to his bed, shucking his coat before collapsing. He curled around his pillow and shut his eyes, not having bothered to turn the lights on when he came in.

So Gatti and Chesta had stopped fighting again. Possibly a good thing, if it could last more than a week. Dalet must be in the middle of it this time, he'd been beyond sullen all evening, that could be a problem. He was hardly manageable normally but if he stopped listening to Gatti he'd be impossible.

Gatti really had to stop romancing everyone as a way of cheering them up. To think Dilandau had nearly ended up in among the helpless lot that followed him around like ducklings. Dilandau laughed into his pillow and felt somewhat lighter again.

When had Chesta stopped being _his_ shadow? It had shifted so slowly that it was hard to notice except in hindsight.

_'You're going to break yourself,' Dilandau observed with a giggle, watching Viole jump from one bed to the next all the way across the room. He reached the last in the row and turned around to come back, his grin wide and breath noisy._

_'Or a bed,' Chesta added, wrapped about his arm with his face resting against Dilandau's shoulder. 'Then the _trainers_ will break you.'_

_'Last night I can still do this!' Viole panted, pressing himself against the wall at the head of one of the beds and examining the center isle. He kicked away from the wall with a short yell and ran down the bed, jumping to the mirror row of empty bunks. He landed in a tumbling roll and a fit of laughter. 'Hey! Hey! We should get everyone to sleep on this side and then we can still jump on those beds!' he pointed excitedly back to the row he'd just left._

_Dilandau fell back laughing, dragging Chesta down as well. 'So the next wave of recruits gets all bad springs, hm?' he grinned at Viole who was scrambling off the bed again and vaulting the next, coming back down towards them._

_'Serves them right for being last!' he giggled brightly, coming up to Dilandau's bed and hopping up to sit cross-legged at the foot of it. 'Hey, Cleo said this Dalet kid is crazy.'_

_'Who the hell is Cleo?' Dilandau raised an eyebrow, 'You've been here less than a month and you already know everyone on the whole base, don't you?'_

_'She's the lady that works in the mess hall,' Viole grinned proudly at his vast network of connections. 'But she said he's been in and out of solitary three times a month or more for trying to kill upperclassmen and instructors!'_

_'Aw, man!' Dilandau wailed. 'I don't want this guy overshadowing _my_ reputation!'_

_All three boys laughed. 'It's probably all rumor though, you really _did_ cut off that trainer's hand. And got _away_ with it!' Chesta said with pride, hugging him._

_'Three fingers, not his whole hand, now you're going to turn it into just another legend!' Dilandau said sulkily._

_'Three fingers and part of his pinky,' Chesta corrected and they laughed together again._

_'Cleo say anything about the others?' Dilandau asked curiously. Four new children would be joining their unit in the morning, Dalet, Leiand, Aegis and Belen, all orphans from other camps who had stood out as well._

_'Not really,' Viole shrugged. 'She thought Aegis might have been the kid that broke an instructor's legs, but she wasn't sure.'_

_'Putting together a pretty violent bunch,' Chesta mused, nuzzling Dilandau's shoulder._

_'What did you do anyway, Chesta?' Viole asked curiously, tilting his head slightly._

_'Nothing,' Chesta shrugged._

_'Snuck in on Dilandau's coat-tails, hm?' Viole said in a teasing voice._

_Chesta flushed, pressing his face closer against Dilandau's arm. 'Yeah, I recommended him, so what? He can manipulate the Crima better than you,' Dilandau shot back defensively._

_Viole rolled his eyes, looking bored, 'Can you do anything on your own, Chesta?'_

_'He could kick your _ass_,' Dilandau snorted._

_'Oooh, I'm _scared!_' Viole giggled. 'Come on, Chesta! Show me what you've got!' He somersaulted off the back of the bed and landed neatly on his feet. 'I _dare _you!' he said with a savage grin._

_'You'll regret it,' Dilandau sang._

_Chesta slid off the bed and walked round to the isle to face off with Viole. Dilandau didn't think twice about having pushed his friend into a fight, he always did Chesta's taunting for him. 'Go Chesta!' he cheered, clapping his hands and whooping, 'Make that lily _cry!

_Three punches were swung, a few pushes and then Viole screamed piercingly as Chesta grabbed a handful of his hair and swung him around to the ground._

_'You _girl!_' he cried angrily. 'I can't believe you pulled my _hair!

_'I don't remember setting any rules,' Dilandau grinned, laying on his stomach, head propped in his hands. 'Chesta's _resourceful_. That's one of the most _important_ skills a soldier can have. Especially fighting with _Crima!

_Chesta glowed happily, then leapt into a panicked dive for his bed as a click came from the door and it swung open. 'What the hell is going on in here?' an officer demanded, slamming the door open._

_Viole had been too slow and was still running for his bed when the officer caught sight of him. 'Viole!' the officer shouted angrily, making him freeze and turn slowly around, 'Can't sleep? Maybe ten laps around the gym would help.'_

_Viole cringed, 'I'm sorry, sir.'_

_'Oh! You're sorry! Lovely! Then it's fine!' the officer exclaimed sarcastically. 'Get your shoes, boy!'_

_Viole hastily pulled on his shoes and followed the officer out of the room. The officer turned the lights out on is way out the door. 'If it's not quiet in here, he'll be getting company,' he threatened sternly._

_A few moments after the door closed, Chesta burst into muffled laughter and Dilandau chuckled too. 'Think he's mad?' Chesta whispered after quieting down._

_'Naw, he was too wound up anyway. Better to have him running in the gym than on the beds,' Dilandau curled on his side, looking into the darkness where Chesta was._

_'... Do you really think I'm a good fighter?' Chesta asked timidly._

_'Yeah, of course!' Dilandau smiled to himself, Chesta always failed to give himself credit for anything he did. It took him almost a year to be convinced that he was really worth being friends with._

_He heard Chesta get up and pad across the floor to him. 'Dilandau?' he sounded hesitant, something he didn't usually do when they were talking alone._

_'Hm?' Dilandau asked, halfway sitting up._

_'Can I kiss you?'_

_'Why?' Dilandau wrinkled his nose then thought that it was probably good Chesta couldn't really see him, he might have gotten upset at the expression._

_'I...' Chesta sounded a little upset anyway, 'I don't know... I just... I don't know...'_

_Dilandau shifted and sat up fully, crossing his legs and studying Chesta's dim silhouette. 'O...kay...' he said after a while, watching Chesta climb happily up next to him._

_Chesta settled himself sitting next to Dilandau, facing him and rested his hands lightly on Dilandau's shoulders. Dilandau felt rather awkward as Chesta leaned forward and brought his mouth up against Dilandau's. He looked off into blank space and tried not to fidget uncomfortably as Chesta lingered, not making this like the quick pecks he'd put on Dilandau's cheek a few times in recent weeks._

_Dilandau balled his hands around the blanket and put all his effort into forcing himself not to pull away when Chesta pushed his tongue into Dilandau's mouth. He couldn't help cringing in horrified disgust. After entirely too long Chesta drew away, breathing shakily, something like he did before he cried._

_His voice was slightly squashed and hesitant, 'Was that really boring?'_

_'No...' Dilandau faltered, 'It was... really... gross.'_

_'Sorry!' Chesta scrambled off Dilandau's bed and back over to his own. Dilandau watched him curl up under the blanket, pulling it over his head. He laid back and bit his lip, hoping _that_ never happened again._


	29. In which Gatti has one thing on his mind

There was something a bit wistful and embarrassed in Gatti's features. He'd been hitting on Dilandau all week. Was he bothered by how fickle he seemed or regretting that he wasn't with Dilandau? Regretting that he'd just traded tall, beautiful and charming for... what? Chesta was nothing.

Chesta looked away, gazing down at the floor to his right. 'Chesta?' Gatti sounded vaguely concerned, but not very. More like he was annoyed but trying to keep it from his voice. His arms wound around Chesta's waist and pulled him closer, so he was leaning against Gatti.

Chesta closed his eyes, feeling another surge of doubt crippling the rush of comfort and arousal. 'I'm not at all beautiful, Gatti...'

'What?' Gatti wove his fingers into Chesta's hair and pulled his face back up to kiss him again.

'I've got nothing. Not looks, not personality, I'm not even that smart. Why are you wasting time on me?' Chesta whispered, his lips close enough to brush Gatti's.

Gatti pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his mouth and sighed. 'You have gorgeous eyes,' he said with a grin.

It sounded like a joke. A joke that was sarcastic or ironic? Did it really matter? Was he saying that was all Chesta had?

Gatti's face softened again with something like exasperation. 'You under credit yourself, you know,' he kissed Chesta's cheek gently. 'I think you're pretty,' Gatti shifted, leaning Chesta slowly back to lay along the couch and hovering just over him, kissing his neck and turning up the seduction.

Chesta's heartbeat jumped to an excited thrum. 'What about Dilandau,' Chesta whispered, his eyelids sliding shut as he tried to stay unaffected by Gatti's cajoling. 'You like him better than me, don't you? How far down your list am I?' Chesta whimpered unsteadily as Gatti paused, teeth caught gently on Chesta's ear. 'All the people you want more than me?'

'Stop it, Chesta,' Gatti said with definite irritation in his voice.

'You stop!' Chesta protested, pushing him away slightly. 'I think we've established that this room isn't exactly private.'

'Everyone's asleep,' Gatti shrugged and swooped down to kiss him again.

'Y'know, a lot of people do this funny thing called "waking up" pretty regularly!' Chesta snapped, turning his head.

'Nobody's going to wake up,' Gatti nuzzled his neck and licked him.

Chesta moaned softly and let Gatti go on. He was clawing at the fasteners on Chesta's boots when two thoughts bumped into each other. 'It's because of Folken, isn't it?' Chesta gasped, fighting with his breath to slow. 'It's because you don't want to be second choice, but it's okay for me to be!'

'Shut up, Chesta, I'm trying to fuck you!' Gatti growled. 'Gods, you're worse...' he trailed off, not finishing the thought aloud.

'Worse than Dalet? Worse than Alex? Worse than whoever the hell else you're juggling?' Chesta demanded, feeling tears at his eyes again.

'I haven't been with Alex in months,' Gatti snapped, drawing away to look Chesta in the eye. He looked hurt, not just angry or annoyed that Chesta was being difficult, but actually hurt. 'I don't want Dalet, I don't want Dilandau, I want _you._' Gatti dropped down again, his mouth next to Chesta's ear, quietly whispering, 'I want you to love me. I want you to need me. You.'

Chesta stared at the ceiling; his breath and heart were slow again. 'That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? Need,' he whispered in a slow, calm way. 'You always want somebody to need you. You always come on to whoever seems saddest. That's why Dalet, me, Dilandau, it's all because we're sad... because you can make us need you. You love to have someone dependent on you... You've been keeping Dalet and me addicted to you, but then suddenly Dilandau's sadder, and you want him.'

Gatti was silent for a long time. 'You're wrong,' he said, after a while, in a shaken, distressed way.

'Am I?'

'Yes!' but there was doubt, there was a kind of desperation. 'I'm not mean! I'm not leading you on!'

'Okay,' Chesta said slowly, 'prove it.'

'That's not fair, Chesta!' Gatti sounded like a tantruming child. 'How?'

'I won't let you juggle me,' Chesta closed his eyes. 'I don't _have_ casual romances like you.'

'I only want you now...' Gatti mumbled against his neck.

'How long will "now" last?'

'Chesta...' Gatti kissed his ear tenderly. 'I love you.'

'Sweet words,' Chesta replied dully.

'Chesta, Chesta,' Gatti's voice was at a higher, more emotional pitch than Chesta had heard it before. 'Please be mine. I swear it won't be like last time. I'll be better.'

'... You're lucky I'm a fool.'


	30. In which Dalet gets a hair cut

_Gatti pressed a hand against Dalet's thigh as he leaned over and whispered softly in his ear, 'Let's get a room for a couple hours.'_

_'I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you,' Dalet grinned._

_Returning the smile lustily, Gatti picked his glass off the counter and continued, 'After another drink.'_

_'I savor the anticipation,' Dalet lifted his glass to Gatti and licked his lips._

_In celebration of the day of the Refounding, they had the evening off to wander freely in the capitol city. Five hours with Gatti and nothing to do but find a quiet place and fuck like rabbits. The cramped clamor of the tavern that had been their first stop made him feel queasy and uncomfortable as crowds packed this tightly tended to, but the thought of a soft bed and Gatti warming it kept him in a pleasant high, despite the surroundings._

_The problem with being stationed at a base in the capitol city was that, on occasions like this, all the other half dozen bases in the city were also on day leave. It was a big city, but not big enough for the vast number of soldiers living in it. Dalet hunched a little, trying to avoid being elbowed so much and not think about what a horrible fire hazard this was._

_Someone behind him grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him back slowly. Dalet clenched his fists and was readying to strangle someone when a voice, deeper than he remembered but unmistakable, breathed coldly into his ear. 'Little toy, you look so much better with short hair. Let me cut it for you.'_

_'Don't touch me!' Dalet barely managed to whisper as he started shaking uncontrollably. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, Gatti standing up then freezing as a bright knife came into view near Dalet's neck._

_'Still such a lamb, Dalet?' Tieje laughed softly._

_'Leave him alone,' Gatti sounded furious._

_Tieje laughed louder, mockingly, his face drawing away from Dalet's ear. Dalet felt the cold steal of the knife blade brush his neck slightly and then move around to the nape of his neck. The soft sound of hairs splitting made something inside of him break as well._

_He jerked his whole body forward with a scream, feeling the knife nick him slightly as he pulled out of Tieje's grasp. Steal gray eyes, dark blonde hair, he still looked just the same as he had only bigger, meaner, madder._

_A thrill of terror ran down Dalet's spine. He almost forgot all four years that had passed, looking into those cold eyes, and was suddenly afraid of another 'obedience lesson'. No. Dalet shook his head, trying to come back to the present, forcing himself to see the years._

_Tieje was shorter than Dalet now. He'd seemed so big in training camp, but now he looked small and a bit gaunt. His hair was longer. Past his waist now. Longer than Dalet's had been before Tieje sheared it off in a vain, jealous fit. His hair, his hair, he wouldn't stand for Dalet's hair to be longer than his. He wouldn't let Dalet be prettier than him. He'd tried to break his nose a few times. But the hair..._

_Gatti was at his side, sword already drawn and ready, but Dalet pushed him back, not taking his eyes off Tieje. Tieje laughed, a few strands of Dalet's hair dripping from his left hand, and drew his own sword._

_It took seconds to disarm him and Dalet could hardly believe how easy it felt. He screamed beautifully as Dalet grabbed him by the pigtail and sliced it neatly off. Tieje froze, then slowly looked up at Dalet, glaring daggers, and lunged at him with a wild howl. Dalet threw his own sword aside, lunging forward to pounce on Tieje, throwing him back and to the floor._

_He paused after three hard punches, admiring the spray of blood across the floor and the way Tieje stared back up at him, looking shocked and terrified as he unsuccessfully tried to push Dalet off. 'What's the matter, Tieje? Does it hurt?' Dalet hissed, shaking with a horrible kind of glee. '"It's _supposed_ to hurt," you _fucking_ bastard!'_

Dalet sat up, gasping and shaking. Everything was dark and still around him. Someone turned in their sleep, but the heavy breathing and a slight snore to his right were the only other sounds. He slowly brought his breathing back into control and swallowed at the obnoxious lump rising in his throat, then kicked his legs over the side of the bed and froze.

The bed under his was empty. Miguel was dead. Gone forever. Dalet slowly pulled his legs back under his blanket and then lay down and pulled it over his head. Everything was wrong.

He bit his lip and tried to stop shaking again. His body refused to comply. Hugging his pillow against his face, he pressed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. Tieje was bothering him again. Twice today he'd been back in the bar. Not that that wasn't an improvement from the training camp nightmares of the rest of this week. He'd woken screaming two days ago.

But why now? Because Miguel was gone? Because they were so blended together in his mind, it reminded him of Kael leaving? He'd given up trying to separate them. That seemed like a bigger mistake now that Tieje was back to haunt him.

Although beating the tar out of Chesta seemed to have helped, shifting him into when he'd met Tieje later in the bar. Away from training camp. Gods, now he was going to be back in training camp the rest of the night. Why couldn't he stop going back there? It was the place he least wanted to be. And damn Chesta for bringing it back up. Damn whoever had spread the rumors here. He still hadn't found out who it was. He'd break their neck if he did.

Dalet heard himself whimper slightly and cupped his fingers round his neck, almost feeling the belt cinched tightly there, cutting into the skin while Tieje held him bent over a baseboard, hammered his hips against it. He wasn't entirely sure how one learned to pass-out quicker, but he thought he'd managed to make the jump to unconsciousness faster over the two months between Kael and Tieje's birthdays.

Damn Chesta for reminding him. As though he needed to be reminded. He'd seen Tieje dying at his hands as he choked the life out of Chesta. And Gatti was there again to drag him away. Then he just left him. He didn't ask why, he didn't care about what had been said before he got there. He just left. Off to play with that doll.

Because he didn't care any more. Because he was bored with Dalet. Because he wanted someone he could manage like a child. Because he'd started to see that Dalet was tired of being his pet.

There was no reason for keeping Dalet if he wasn't wrapped neatly around Gatti's finger. That's what it all came down to. Dalet wasn't treating his whims like the direct word of Apollo any more. He wasn't bending over backwards to please him.

And maybe Chesta would. He'd only been caught by Gatti's spell recently. How did he do it? Just the same way he'd snared Dalet, no doubt. Like a coyote; find the sheep farthest from the herd and take it. Gatti could never resist the opportunity to acultify another distant, antisocial, lost soul. Charisma of a demon. If only he had a longer attention span.


	31. In which Dilandau swears a lot

Guimel paused. Taking away the sound of his heals on metal, he could hear the faint sounds of yelling in the distance. He started running and the sound grew continually louder as he neared the Dragon Slayers' cluster. He slammed his fist against the door button and then staggered backwards from the horrendously loud screaming within.

He couldn't make out a word for how unbelievably loud they were. Gatti and Dalet were both red-faced and seemed to have managed to unhinge their jaws like snakes. Guimel clapped his hands over his ears and stared. Dalet was in tears and looked ready to kill, Gatti was angrier than Guimel had ever seen him.

It took a minute for him to see Chesta, half crumpled on the floor and holding a hand over his mouth and nose while blood oozed around his fingers. He looked like he had the beginnings of a black eye too. His eyes flickered up to spot Guimel. He looked scared. It suddenly struck Guimel that he'd never seen Chesta look scared.

The screaming suddenly stopped. Guimel's eyes shot back to Gatti and Dalet. Gatti had a hand raised. Guimel's hands dropped away from his ears and he stared. Dalet's head, still turned where it had been left when Gatti slapped him, slowly rotated back, eyes locking incredulously on Gatti.

Dalet pounced in a cat-like way. Gatti was ready for him and quickly braced his feet, slamming Dalet with a two-fisted lung-punch. Dalet was back up in an instant with a left hook and a kick. They didn't have the breath to shout now and Guimel could hear the footfalls behind him. He turned, realizing he was still standing in the door jam, to see Dilandau and Aegis thundering down the hall.

Dilandau stared for a moment, looking as shocked and horrified as Guimel felt. Dalet had gotten the upper hand and was on top of Gatti, shaking him by the shoulders and bashing his head against the floor. 'Hold him!' Dilandau shouted and started running again, not towards the two but to his room.

Aegis started forward and Guimel matched him, reaching the fray at the same time. Even the two of them together could barely hold Dalet as he screamed and struggled furiously. Chesta was up again, helping to restrain Dalet, and they managed to drag him a few feet back before Dilandau came running back, leaping over Gatti on the way.

He pushed Aegis to the side slightly and slammed a syringe into Dalet's arm. Dalet roared and struggled worse still for a few minutes. Guimel was thankful there were four of them restraining him now, as his muscles ached from the effort and sweat started to get into his eyes.

Then Dalet abruptly started to fade, his movements growing weaker. His screams died to vague mumbles until he went entirely quiet and limp. Dilandau was swearing continuously as Guimel helped him drag Dalet onto a couch.

'Shit shit shit shit SHIT!' he screamed and kicked the couch. 'Why _now?_ Why does fucking _everything_ have to happen _now?_ _SHIT!_' Dilandau swung around, glaring at Gatti as Chesta was gathering him up off the floor, both flinching, bruised and bloody. '_What the_ FUCK _did you_ DO?'

Gatti hissed in pain and cupped his hand around the back of his head. 'We're talking about Dalet,' he whispered. 'There doesn't need to be a reason.'

Dilandau stamped his foot and crossed his arms, 'He's crazy but he's _not_ that random! Not with _you!_ I will _not_ loose another of my men to your _whims!_' His voice dipped to a low growl, 'When he comes back, don't you _dare_ piss him off again.'

'This is the _second_ time he's tried to _kill_ Chesta!' Gatti shouted back angrily and winced, leaning back against Chesta.

'Then you get me!' Dilandau yelled. 'If the best you can think to do is get into a brawl, then I don't want you even _talking_ to him!' He crouched down to look Gatti in the eye, 'You've obviously lost your touch with him and I don't want you trying to talk him down anymore. If he gets out of hand, get me, okay? This is three times I've kept him from getting shipped to the mines, he's _my_ responsibility. Leave him to me.'

'... Okay,' Gatti answered, looking at the floor in an angry, frustrated way.

'Good,' Dilandau nodded and stood, ordering, 'Guimel, get them to the infirmary. Aegis, help me carry Dalet.'


	32. In which it's dark

_'Miguel?' Dalet tapped Miguel's shoulder lightly._

_He could make out the vague movement of his lashes fluttering and the glow of the neon-painted clock face shining off his eyes in the slightly orange tinted darkness. Miguel started and gasped, recoiling back into his pillow slightly before blinking a few times and hissing angrily, 'Holy fuck! You scared the shit out of me! What the fuck do you want?'_

_'I wanted... to make sure you didn't think this was about pride...' Dalet whispered with a stab of irritation at how poorly his thoughts were fitting into words._

_'... What?'_

_'It's not just... because you turned me down. It's not just my pride or whatever. That's not why I'm pursuing you,' Dalet chewed on his lip awkwardly. 'I really do like you.'_

_Miguel was quiet for a moment and then groaned, 'Tell me it's not two in the morning...'_

_'Uh, yeah...' Dalet bit his lip harder, the slight taste of new skin, something like blood but not quite, brushed the tip of his tongue._

_'Is this one of those you-can't-sleep-so-spread-the-misery moments?' the usual annoyed edge bled into Miguel's voice as the grogginess of sleep faded from it. 'Get off of me,' he extracted a hand from his blankets and pushed Dalet away then paused, hand still against Dalet's shoulder. 'Go back to bed. You're shivering.'_

_'I'm sorry for waking you,' Dalet nodded, trying to smooth over the shaking that was starting to sound in his voice as well._

_Miguel sighed, catching his arm as Dalet started to get up. 'What's wrong?' he asked in the irritated, obligatory voice._

_'Don't ask if you don't want to know,' Dalet whispered, closing his eyes and fighting against the exhaustion and emotions pooling behind them._

_'Dalet...' the edge was gone from his voice again and Miguel sounded more sober than usual. 'Who's Kael?'_

_Dalet stared at the slightly darker patch of dark that Miguel was laying in and watched words slip uselessly away from him, feeling startled and upset and ashamed._

_'You call me Kael sometimes... and all the time when I first got here,' Miguel said in a soft, hesitant way._

_'Sorry,' quiet panic started to rise in Dalet's stomach._

_'Who is he?'_

_'No one,' Dalet muttered, putting his foot on the edge of Miguel's bed and preparing to jump back up to his own._

_'I want to know,' Miguel said in an almost inaudible voice._

_Dalet paused and then put his feet back on the floor, gazing at the lump of shadows that was a little shadowier than the shadows around them. He chewed on his lip for a long moment, shivering, and battling with himself over what to tell him or to just ignore him. He tilted back his head and blinked a few times, willing the tears to just fall back in his head. It didn't work._

_'Scoot over,' he whispered, pulling up the edge of Miguel's blanket._

_'Dalet--'_

_'I'm cold,' Dalet snapped._

_After a pause, Miguel slid wordlessly sideways, letting Dalet climb under the blanket next to him. He stiffened uncomfortably as Dalet pressed up close to him, lying his head on Miguel's chest and wrapping an arm round his stomach. He started to say something but Dalet quietly cut him off, 'He took care of me for a little while. When I first got to training camp. He was the first person to be nice to me since my mother died.'_

_'When did she die?' Miguel asked quietly._

_'When I was nine. So I'm not talking years when I say I didn't have any friends in the asylum,' Dalet tilted his face slightly, bringing his nose close to Miguel's chest and slowly inhaling his intoxicating scent._

_'Do I look like him?' Miguel shifted back to Kael. Is telling someone you remind them of someone else a good way to seduce them or a bad way? Dalet thought it was probably a bad way._

_'Yeah, maybe,' Dalet sighed lightly, wrapping his arm tighter around Miguel. 'He had brown hair and blue eyes... I don't know, I can't picture him any more. I just see you.'_

_Miguel didn't say anything. Dalet moved his head slightly again to listen to his heartbeat. 'It's not just that...' Dalet sifted frustratedly through words that didn't fit his thoughts at all, 'Maybe at first. It's what I saw first, but... you're so nice.'_

_'... I thought I was a bit mean to you.'_

_'Lots of people have been mean to me,' Dalet half shrugged, 'you don't compare at all.'_

_Miguel was quiet for a while and then asked in a doubtful, hesitant way, 'Did Kael--'_

_'The rumors aren't about him!' Dalet's voice raised more than he meant it to and he froze, listening for anyone else having woken up. Nothing, there was still the heavy, undisturbed breathing from all sides. He closed his eyes, listening to Miguel's heartbeat and willing himself to stop shaking._

_'I'm sorry,' Miguel said, and he sounded like it. He sounded like he cared._

_A sob broke free of Dalet's mouth and he pressed his face closer against Miguel. He shook slightly as a few more poured silently away before he could breath again. 'He was nice to me,' Dalet choked quietly. 'He just kissed me and held me and called... called me "Pretty Baby".'_

_Miguel didn't say anything. Awkward silence and no response as Dalet tried to stop crying. He'd never said anything to confirm the rumors floating about him._

_'I was only there three months before he turned thirteen,' Dalet whispered hoarsely. 'He left and another boy that was friends with him... He took me over when Kael left.' Dalet swallowed another sob, feeling sick, 'He called me "Toy" and made me one.'_

_'... Shit...' Miguel breathed, he was shaking just slightly now too. 'Why is orphan training camp such a nightmare?'_

_'Because no one there is sane,' Dalet whimpered, pulling his arm tighter again._

_'Why'd you tell me?'_

_'... I don't know,' Dalet said slowly. 'I haven't told anyone... I trust you, I guess.'_

_Miguel didn't say anything._

Dalet's eyes flickered open. The metal ceiling above him was too far away. 'Hm, almost six hours exactly!' he heard someone say to his left and asked his head to fall that way. It took more effort than it should have to turn his head and then was next to impossible to focus. He thought he might still be dreaming for the surreal, light and confused feeling he had.

'Do you remember why I tranqued you?' the fuzzy blob that Dalet slowly identified as Dilandau asked.

Tranqued? Dalet gazed at him, not sure if he'd said that aloud or not.

There was a pause and then Dilandau sighed annoyedly. 'You knocked out two of Gatti's teeth and broke a few of his ribs, not to mention splitting his head open. Chesta's got a black eye, hairline fracture on his jaw and a sprained shoulder,' he listed off.

Dalet vaguely remembered that he'd been fighting with Gatti before he was asleep. He couldn't even remember why now. He felt sick and confused. He wanted to go back to sleep. Forever.


	33. Which is about drugs

Dilandau sat back and was quiet for a while before saying, 'The Sorcerers want to put you on Valium.'

Valium is... a drug... for... crazy people...

'... It'll help you calm down. Maybe make you feel better,' Dilandau said in a quiet, hesitant way.

'Ah...' Dalet tried to manipulate his mouth into speech, it was surprisingly difficult. 'Aam I that crrrazy?'

'You're getting pretty scary,' Dilandau nodded. 'Since Miguel... was killed, you've been a lot worse than you ever were before. It's really starting to worry me. I'm not going to let them put you in the mines... but I can't keep covering you if you're hurting my other soldiers...'

Dalet stared vaguely into space for a while and then said quietly, 'I should be dead anyway.'

Dilandau looked up at him sharply, 'What are you talking about?'

'... It was because I let him disarm me... The Dragon was going to kill me... That's why Miguel stepped in. That's why he died... I was supposed to die...'

_Dalet glared sullenly at the vaguely reflective wall ahead of him. He could hear footsteps. Gatti? Come to be irritated with Dalet for avoiding him most of the day? He found himself doing that more and more frequently lately._

_He stopped in front of Dalet, pausing for a moment before moving to his side and sitting down against the wall next to him. Dalet moved his head slightly to not look at him._

'_What?' Miguel's voice asked annoyedly, making Dalet jerk his head up in surprise._

'_Miguel!' Dalet felt his face heat up with embarrassment. He hadn't blushed since he was a kid. 'Sorry, I didn't know it was you,' he looked down again, trying to hide his face._

'_Fighting with Gatti?' Miguel asked._

'_Not really,' Dalet shrugged._

'_Stop hitting Chesta,' Miguel said softly._

_Dalet looked up at him furiously. Not him too. 'Why?' he demanded._

'_Gatti likes babying him. Haven't you noticed? He likes to take care of people,' Miguel answered coolly. 'He's probably missing having all those little sisters to take care of.'_

_Dalet laughed._

'_What?' Miguel looked at him curiously._

'_Chesta as one of his little sisters. Pink dress, ribbon in his hair,' Dalet felt delight bubble in him as Miguel laughed too._

'_Still, he's such a prick. I want to hit him every time he opens his mouth,' Dalet sighed, leaning his head back against the wall._

'_He has about the social skills of a skunk,' Miguel shrugged. 'It's not like he has any friends though, and he seems pretty miserable. Just ignore him. Gatti will get bored if you're not giving him more excuses to caudal him and then he'll just rot in his own loneliness. He solves himself.'_

_Dalet leaned sideways, resting his head on Miguel's shoulder-guard, so that his forehead was against Miguel's neck, and caught Miguel's hand in his. 'How did you get so smart?'_

'_People get predictable if you watch them a while,' Miguel answered stiffly, 'You just have to assume that there is a reason behind the things they do and a lot of times it starts adding up and making sense.'_

_After a pause Dalet sat back up and wrapped his arms around his legs. 'I guess I'm pretty predictable,' he said with a slight bitterness seeping into his voice._

_He was conscious of Miguel quietly looking at him for a while before replying, 'Whenever I start thinking so you surprise me.'_

_The heat was creeping over Dalet's face again and his heart beat faster. 'Why are you nice to me? You don't like me hitting on you, but you're still nice...'_

'_You're nice to me. You get on my nerves a lot, but... I guess it's pretty flattering,' he sounded uncomfortable and not fully truthful._

'_You pity me,' Dalet closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, feeling very sick and angry._

_There was a long silence. 'A bit. Yeah, I do,' Miguel spoke in a quiet, worried way. 'There's something wrong with you, Dalet. You're... I guess you're a whore.'_

'_I'm not!' Dalet glared, feeling tears starting to burn at his eyes. Why did he have to say that? Dalet didn't care when anyone else said it, but not Miguel. 'I haven't... I...' he was crying, he couldn't fight it away this time._

'_I'm sorry,' Miguel looked embarrassed and upset. 'I don't mean literally. I know you're not really whoring yourself anymore... but... you still... You still _treat_ yourself like a whore.'_

_Dalet dropped his head against his knees, sobbing. Miguel was never this mean to him. 'Dalet,' Miguel sounded slightly distressed, 'I'm not... I know you've been hurt and used but... you're in the habit of _letting_ people use you now. You almost invite it. You _do_ invite it...' He pulled his arm around Dalet's shoulders and Dalet leaned against him, pressing his face against Miguel's chest and wrapping his arms around his waist. 'Why do you screw Gatti?'_

'_He's my friend,' Dalet whined defensively._

'_Why is he your friend?'_

'_... He's nice to me...' Dalet whimpered and then sobbed._

'_Do you think he'd stop being nice to you if you didn't screw him?'_

'_... I don't know...'_

'_If he did, the next question is whether he's worth having as a friend,' Miguel made it sound simple._

_Dalet swallowed against the lump in his throat, 'I don't want to be alone again. I don't want to have no one again.'_

'_I'll be your friend,' Miguel said quietly, making Dalet freeze, not even breathing. 'I'll never ask you for anything.'_

_Dalet drew away from him a bit and just gazed at him for a long time. He looked dead serious. 'Why?'_

_Miguel looked at him sadly, an expression he'd worn a few other times when talking to Dalet. It seemed to be linked with Dalet saying something wholy pathetic. He caught his arms around Dalet and pulled him back into a hug. 'Dalet, there's more to you than a piece of meat. Just because I don't want to screw you doesn't mean I don't care about you.'_

_'... Why?'_

_'Why not?' he demanded in an exasperated tone. Then he paused for a long time, letting Dalet curl up against him. 'You really want someone to take care of you, don't you? A lot of the orphans seem to be like that...' Miguel sighed in a depressed kind of way. 'I'll take care of you. Stop crying.'_

'It was all because I failed. Because I couldn't even hold my own against that bastard,' Dalet shook, it was getting hard to speak again, but not from the tranquilizer.

'Dalet...' Dilandau sounded shaky too. 'He made a choice. He chose not to stand idly and watch a comrade die.' He sniffed, 'I... I shouldn't have trusted them. We should have brought him back ourselves. There's lots of blame for everyone, Dalet... but it was no ones fault.'

'He said he'd take care of me... Just that afternoon... He said... I didn't think... I didn't think...' Dalet sobbed.

Dilandau stood up and put a jar in Dalet's hand. 'Take one at a time. No more than three an hour,' he said quietly.

'Okay,' Dalet nodded.


	34. In which nobody's happy

Never so weary. Never so in woe. Dilandau was physically and emotionally exhausted. He felt like puking his guts out and then finding a nice cave to hibernate in forever. When it rains, it pours, and there was no sign of the sun coming out today.

No one was playing cards. No Mau, no Snake, no 13, not even Solitaire... Chesta was the only one in the main room, sitting curled in the corner of a couch with his face hidden and his knees to his chin. He looked very small and child-like there, more fragile than usual.

'How are you feeling?' Dilandau asked quietly, sitting next to him.

'Stressed,' Chesta mumbled.

'How's your eye?'

He shrugged slightly.

'Hey,' Dilandau put a hand lightly on Chesta's shoulder, wanting him to look up for a moment. Chesta melted against him, sobbing. 'Why are you crying, Chesta?' Dilandau asked softly, hugging him protectively.

The hysterical crying all but drown out the few coherent words that slipped past his lips. 'I'm s-so tired of b-being hurt,' he whispered shakily. 'It's not f-fair.'

'I know... I know...' tears were coming fast to Dilandau's eyes now. He shifted his arms and pulled Chesta in closer, shaking and feeling more tired and ill every moment. It was like back when they were younger, Chesta understood what he was thinking and he understood Chesta with almost no words. They were back in the same boat again; they were mirroring each other again. 'Why did you kiss me?'

'What?' Chesta sounded vaguely confused.

'A few weeks ago. You thought I was asleep.'

'I... I was... I wanted... to prove... to myself... that I didn't love him,' Chesta stammered. '... That sounds really stupid...'

'No it doesn't,' Dilandau shook his head slightly.

Chesta sobbed again, burying his face in Dilandau's shirt and shaking like a leaf. It took Dilandau a moment to realize how much _he_ was shaking too. He curled around Chesta slightly and cried with him.

'The whole world's gotten sick,' Dilandau shuddered. 'Everything's wrong. What happened?' Chesta didn't answer and Dilandau hadn't expected him to. It was all just so wrong and everything was collapsing so suddenly. 'Isn't it supposed to be better?' Dilandau sobbed more loudly. 'In the asylum it was supposed to get better in training camp and then it was supposed to get better when we were real soldiers... When does it get better?'

'O-out there. When we're free,' Chesta whimpered uncertainly.

'We'll never _get_ out!' Dilandau almost yelled, feeling panicky. 'Orphans can't get _jobs_. Orphans can't _have_ a real life. They all come back or _die!_' the hysteria slowly dissolved into horrible, empty desolation. 'There's no way out... Not even if we _could_ survive eight more years...'

'Stop it,' Chesta sounded terrified. 'Stop it. _You're_ supposed to be the optimist!'

'Everything's just lies...' Dilandau choked. 'There is no reward. There's not even an end... There's no way out. We're trapped. They own us. They'll never let us go. Why would they?'

Chesta pushed away from him slightly and caught his face between his hands, staring at him in a scared, miserable way. 'We're going to get out. We're going to live and we're going to get away from here. _Look at me!_' his hands were shaking violently, he was searching Dilandau's eyes for, what, hope? There wasn't any left. 'Please. Please don't stop believing. We'll get away. Please.'

'I'm sorry,' Dilandau whispered, burrowing his face against Chesta's neck and clinging to him as though life depended on it.

Chesta cried in a quiet, heavy, mourning way, as though someone had just died. Someone had just died. It wasn't a week since Miguel was killed by the doppelganger. Dilandau heard someone say something after a while. He'd missed the sound of the door. He was too wrapped in grief to pay attention to the world around him. He couldn't hear what was said, just felt Chesta suddenly jerk and tense.

Chesta's hand pressed considerately over Dilandau's ear before he shouted, nearly screamed, right next to his head, 'FUCK OFF, YOU FRIDGED _BASTARD!_ I HATE YOU!'

Dilandau raised his head slightly, as Chesta's hand fell away and he collapsed against him in further hysteria, expecting to see Dalet or Viole. He felt more than a pang of dejection to see Gatti storming away. Everything was breaking and falling apart. For two whole years everything had been ideal, now in two weeks it was all crumbling to dust. The unit was broken, compromised. Why? Because of him. It all started with Dilandau falling apart. A strong unit needs a strong leader and he failed them all. He failed Miguel.

'I'm sorry!' he wailed into Chesta's hair. 'I'm so sorry! Everything's my fault!' Maybe if he weren't fighting with Folken the lift would have been there. Maybe if he hadn't been so down, Chesta and Gatti wouldn't be fighting. Maybe if he'd been paying better attention, maybe if he'd maintained better order, Dalet wouldn't be drugged and crazier than normal.

'No it's not!' Chesta sounded more scared than sad again. 'Everything's been ready to crumble to bits for months. Just one little push... Just Miguel... It's all been just about to break... Nothing's your fault. Please don't say it is.'

'... How can it not be?' Dilandau whimpered softly. 'I wasn't good enough. I didn't do my job well enough. I couldn't hold us together. I couldn't even keep Miguel from dying!' A loud sob broke free of his throat, 'I can't do this! I'm just a kid! I can't do this!'


	35. In which Gatti yells at a perfectly inno...

Always back to Dilandau at the drop of a hat. For all the piteous devotion he'd claim, he turned coat surprisingly fast. So he wanted an _exclusive_ relationship. Right. Just so long as Gatti didn't associate with anyone else. And no matter what _Chesta_ did, it was always _Gatti_ that was wrong!

'_You're not worth_ SHIT' Gatti screamed at the closed door.

'Wh're you yelling...?'

'Because I'm angry!' Gatti snapped. He paused; there was no response. Usually in the best of moods Dalet would get upset with being yelled at. Gatti walked slowly round his bed to look at Dalet.

He was lying up in his bunk, on his back, gazing placidly at the ceiling. 'How do you feel?' Gatti asked somewhat hesitantly, but feeling a sudden rush of relief as soon as he had.

'Light,' Dalet shrugged, 'high.' He closed his eyes and smiled lightly, 'I'm floating.'

'You like it?'

'Yeah,' Dalet sighed.

He wasn't even moving. Completely sedate and didn't seem mad at all now. Just slow and mild. Gatti risked climbing up to his bunk and sitting next to Dalet. 'What happened to us?' he asked quietly, feeling miserable and helpless. 'We used to have so much fun. We got on so well. What happened?'

'... Miguel,' Dalet opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again. 'You didn't care who I fucked, just that I only _loved_ you... You got so jealous... It was sweet at first, but then just obnoxious after a while.' He looked at Gatti then and smiled, 'You wouldn't stand for not being everything to me.'

'Is it evil that I want to be?' Gatti asked quietly. He felt sick.

'You want if for yourself,' Dalet sighed, turning back to the ceiling. 'You just want to be godly or something. You want me to worship you.'

Gatti blinked fast, he wanted to cry and scream and throw a tantrum. He lay down and curled against Dalet. 'So it's all my fault then?'

'No,' Dalet shook his head. 'I didn't trust you enough, I think...'

'Why?'

'I don't know... I didn't trust anyone... But Miguel looked like the last person I trusted...' he was talking very slowly. Gatti wondered if it was the drugs or the odd mood, which was, of course, being caused by the drugs.

'I want to go back in time,' Gatti whispered, feeling a tear creep away from his eye and down across the bridge of his nose. 'Can we forget it all? Can we pretend Miguel and Chesta and everything else didn't happen?'

'That's a lot to pretend...' Dalet smiled ironically.

'I want to be like we used to be,' Gatti sniffed and shut his eyes, nestling his face against Dalet's shoulder. 'Please, can we forget?' he pleaded pathetically.

Dalet shifted, lightly kissing Gatti's forehead, 'I've been trying to figure out how to forget things for six years... I still don't know how...'

Gatti wrapped his arm around Dalet's neck, 'Then can we just stay here forever?'

'Okay.'


	36. In which it's a bit windy

The wind drew out tears more readily, but dried them almost instantly. It left a thin dusting of salt clinging to their faces, both from the thinnest traces of ocean spray that reached so high off the waves and from their own tears. It was soothing in a cold and heartless way. It felt alive. It reminded them that the world was still slowly turning and living and enduring.

Chesta leaned his face against Dilandau's shoulder, curling his arms around Dilandau's and sighing softly. Dilandau didn't flinch or bite his lip in the anxious, uncomfortable way he had the past few years whenever Chesta touched him. He even gripped Chesta's hand when Chesta slid it into his.

He'd longed to be this close again, to cling helplessly to Dilandau for strength. 'Do you still love me?' his voice shook and he could feel renewed tears forming at his eyes.

'Of course I do,' Dilandau pulled him into a warm hug, sheltering him slightly from the bitter wind that drown his voice to a thin, strained whisper.

'I love you more--' Chesta sobbed quietly, 'with every moment of every day.' He pressed his eyes shut and sobbed again, pressing his face against Dilandau's collar.

'You said...' Dilandau's hand rested softly on the crown of Chesta's head. '... You...'

'I lied,' Chesta whispered, and then repeated it louder to be heard over the wind. He cursed himself inwardly for bringing this up again. As soon as he'd regained this wonderful, warm trust, he was pushing it away again with his foolish attempts to deepen the intimacy of their friendship.

He'd tried to ignore it, deny it, refocus it, when he saw it killing the relationship they had. He'd just ended up cold and alone and willing to give his body and soul to Gatti for a few token words of comfort. Either way he couldn't find any kind of peace, only scorn, and he just ended up miserable and trying to hide from the world and cold reality.

Dilandau hadn't retreated or pushed him away. Was he cringing and regretting letting Chesta follow him out here? Probably. 'I'd do anything for you,' Chesta whispered.

Chesta melted with relief when Dilandau's arms tightened around him. 'Please don't cry,' Dilandau mumbled to him, though he was crying himself. 'I'm sorry. Please...'


	37. In which it's morning for the last time

Chesta blinked his eyes back shut as the light came on over his head. He lay still in his bed for a moment before sitting up and thinking about getting down from his bunk. He felt much clearer and better rested today. He'd been so exhausted the previous, he must have slept very heavily.

He climbed down from his loft and met eyes with Gatti. There was a pause and then Gatti asked quietly, 'Are we calling it over?'

'Yes, please,' Chesta nodded.

Gatti nodded back, gazing into space to his left. 'Sorry,' he said after a while.

'Yeah,' Chesta nodded again. 'Me too.'

They dressed for the day in silence. Chesta looked up when he was pulling on his coat to see Gatti gazing in a hurt, angry way at Dalet. Dalet was still in his nightclothes, standing still next to Miguel's bed and gazing down at it. He'd done that every morning and evening since Miguel had died.

Today he shook slightly. Gatti dropped down onto his own bed and started buckling on his boots, looking irate. 'He's dead, Gatti,' Chesta said softly.

'Shut up,' Gatti snapped. 'You and I are through. This is none of your business.'

Chesta nodded, looking at Dalet with more sympathy than he usually would. He was shaking more and looking scared. He started calling out, at first in a terrified whisper and then louder and more panicked, 'Gatti? ... Gatti? ... Gatti?'

Gatti looked back up, immediately falling to concerned doting. He rushed round to Dalet, catching his hand and shoulder. 'What's wrong?' he asked in his sweet, soothing voice.

'We're all going to die,' Dalet stared at him, tears starting to fall from his eyes. 'Can't you feel it?'

Gatti hugged him and pet his hair slowly, shushing him. 'Dalet, you're stoned. Calm down. You're just stressed out--' The door clicked shut behind Chesta and he walked quietly to the mess hall. He was starting to feel nervous jitters for the razing in Freid today too.


	38. In which Dalet says a bad word

Dalet was screaming at the soldiers. They ran this way and that and he shouted a constant tirade of profanity and morbid threats at them. Because Miguel had died here, no doubt. He was usually fairly blithe, in a mad, murderous way, during battle. Now he was nothing but complete rage.

Gatti turned away from him, concentrating on the soldiers vainly shooting arrows at his Alseides and hitting at his legs with maces and things. They were easily skewered and left to bleed out on the ground.

Freid had lost but they still weren't surrendering. Their army was beaten back in the city and this small stand was just a token of resistance. No one could possibly think they stood a chance.

'The battle's won,' General Adolphos's voice announced over the radio. 'The duke is dead.'

'--ALL BURN, YOU FUCKING SONS OF BlTCHES!' Dalet's voice railed on as the general's, for which the other radios had gone mute, cut out. 'I'LL PISS ON YOUR BLACKENED BONES, YOU--'

'DALET!' Dilandau screamed, overpowering him. 'SHUT UP!'

'Huh?'

'It's over. We won. Shut up,' Dilandau sighed in an annoyed voice. It took only a short time for all the Freidians to realize it as well. Within an hour a surrender had been signed and the tiny child prince of Freid was presenting it to Zaibach.

They had apparently stalled just long enough to allow the Asturians and Escaflowne to escape. Dilandau had screamed at the chief executive officer of the Freidians for more than ten minutes, promising that it would not be forgotten, until General Adolphos had slapped him.

He was fuming. Gatti stole a glance to where Dilandau stood at attention, just a short distance away. He was glaring at nothing and biting his lip, like he had been for quite some time, and now a shadow of red was starting to pool at his lips.

Gatti stared at him for a while until Dilandau felt his eyes and looked up. Gatti mouthed _you're bleeding_ slowly and exaggerated at him and he looked slightly surprised, only then seeming to notice the taste of blood and licked it away, turning his attention back to the immensely boring and irritating scene of formal surrender.

It was hours before it was over. Plenty of time for the Dragon to have found a hiding place. It came as a shock when word came from the Vione that it was less than an hour away, docked with another ship and not moving. The other ship, which was larger even than the Vione, left shortly after the Dragon Slayers arrived, leaving the Crusade still and alone in the air, looking crippled and small. There would be no better time to strike.


	39. In which Feye cries?

'Enough games,' Dilandau said in a calm, sure voice. 'We end this _now_.'

There was no comment from above. Dilandau knew Folken was watching and no doubt knew Dilandau meant to kill Van. He wasn't saying anything, no weak order for Dilandau to ignore. Nothing.

Grim determination and sickness filled Dilandau. Killing Van would be like killing everything he'd ever felt for Folken. The thought was terrifying and tantalizing. Would he be left empty? But to be free of the constant, aching pain of loss and rejection...

'ATTACK!'

Ribbons of liquid mettle were batted away and severed like so much yarn. Escaflowne charged forward, in the opposite direction from Dilandau and cut down three Alseides with no apparent effort.

Who? Dilandau tried to steel a glance to the monitors of his units and was interrupted by a scream over the intercom, abruptly cut off. Guimel, that was Guimel. Dilandau's eyes snapped back to the view out his cockpit, staring in horror as Escaflowne whirled and cut down another melef. His limbs were leaden, his eyes wide and unblinking, he couldn't move, he couldn't think. It seemed like decades had passed before he heard his own voice screaming an order into the radio, 'STEALTH CLOAKS!'

All the guymelefs but Escaflowne and those already aflame disappeared. He stared at the scene, still unable to shift his gaze to the panel to see who'd been killed. His blood ran cold when he heard Dalet's voice, broken and shaking, start to babble 'No. No. No. Gatti. No. Please. No. No. No.'

He was drown out suddenly by the horrified whimpering, that just clicked into place in Dilandau's mind as being Chesta, suddenly shifting into a loud scream.

Dilandau's head whipped around to see the panel. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. It was true. Gatti was gone. He heard a hysterical sob fall from his mouth.

'...Oh gods...'

'How...?'

'This _can't_ be happening!'

'No one's that fast.'

'He's a demon.'

'He can see us...' Dalet's voice, just barely audible and suddenly very hollow, whispered.

'...Oh gods...' Dilandau heard himself whimper as Escaflowne flew into motion again. It charged for the nearest guymelefs and started cutting them down like saplings.

'NO! NO! _NO!_' Dalet was screaming.

'CRAZY _FUCK!_ DON'T YOU _DARE_ GIVE UP NOW!'

Dalet was crying, sobbing hysterically.

'YOUR MOTHER WAS THE _FUCKING_ WHORE OF _SATAN!_' Chesta was screaming insults over the radio. Was he loosing it too or trying to push Dalet into a rage?

Escaflowne was charging Dalet. Dalet screamed in terror and raised crima into a shield above him.

'NO!' Dilandau screamed.

Escaflowne's sword tore easily through the shield, as Dilandau had known it would, as Dalet should have known. The liquid metal within his guymelef became unpressurized, unstable and burst into poisonous, blue flames.

Dilandau couldn't breath. He couldn't move. He could barely see but his eyes stayed open, wider than they'd ever been. Screams, cut off by the combustion of the guymelefs they'd come from, echoed over the intercom.

Escaflowne would cut open the air and it would burst into flames, a guymelef wreckage falling out of nothing. Dilandau could hear the clicks of the little lights representing his soldiers turning off. Going black. Telling him another had died.

This was a dream. This had to be a dream. This was too surreal, too terrible, to be real. This had to be a dream.

Escaflowne turned, locked right on Dilandau. He could feel Van staring at him through metal and smoke and invisibility, seeing him without trouble. He was about to die. He was about to turn into another pile of burning blue metal and flesh.

'_DILANDAU!_'

Dilandau opened his mouth in horror. He could see the waver in the air, as though from heat rising off metal on a bright day. Chesta had run between him and Van. No.

'Chesta... _CHESTA!_' he screamed, going numb and mute as he watched blue fire poor out around Escaflowne's sword.

Everything was still for a moment. It was a dream. He'd wake up soon. Now. Wake up. 'Chesta?' Dilandau whispered. It wasn't real. 'Gatti? Dalet?' It wasn't real.

Escaflowne was charging towards him, sword held evenly at cockpit level, the voice of Van Fanel, the voice of all sorrow and pain, screaming out of it.

'THIS IS FOR FANELIA!'

Dilandau screamed. Everything froze. Everything was cold. Everything was still. The Dragon had frozen, stopped advancing. It stood there, motionless. It stood staring at him. This was worse.

_Just kill me too._

Escaflowne turned black. Black. Black. Like darkness. Black. Like night. Black like the little lights on the panel.

There were still voices on the intercom. None of them were his Slayers. Voices from up in the ship. Somebody yelling at him. Folken yelling at him.

Escaflowne fell backwards with a crash. Leaving Dilandau alive. Further torture?

'_DILANDAU!_'

'Nn...'

'WITHDRAW! GET _AWAY_ FROM THERE!'

So much concern. So much terror and hysteria in Folken's voice. Why couldn't he have cared before, when it mattered?

'GET BACK TO THE FORTRESS! _NOW!_'

'Fol...'

'_GET BACK TO THE FORTRESS!_'

'Ah... ah...' tears were streaming down Dilandau's face. He sobbed.

'_GET BACK TO THE GOD DAMNED SHIP!_'

Folken's voice was much higher than it should be. He was screaming. Why? Why didn't it matter any more? Nothing mattered.

_I want to die._

'Please, _please_, get out of there...' Folken _was_ almost whimpering.

'I can't move...' Dilandau whispered.

'Yes you can,' Folken's voice crackled back, still hysterical but mixed with some relief at the coherent response. '_Please_, Dilandau, get back up here.'

Dilandau's fingers felt stiff and numb as he groped for the controls under his right hand. Finding the command for flight took so long. The Crusade was already setting down when Dilandau finally managed to jump into the air and drift back towards the Vione. The Dragon Slayers' barracks would be empty. There would be no lazy card game underway. There would be no joking and fighting. Ever again.

_Oh gods..._


	40. In which Folken gets angry

Folken was shaking violently. In the monitors he could see Dilandau's guymelef rising back to the ship. There was no chase. He watched a moment longer to make sure. No one followed him. Escaflowne lay petrified amid the slaughter grounds and the Crusade had landed.

He looked down at the railing he'd been gripping in his fake hand. It was partially crushed and a few of the thin pins in the joints of the hand were snapped. He dropped the radio receiver he was holding in his real hand and staggered slightly. It felt as though he'd forgotten how to balance properly. He backed slowly away from where he had been standing, where he'd been watching the unexpected slaughter unfold.

'Lord Folken?' a secretary questioned as he turned, 'Where--'

He didn't wait to answer or even hear the rest of the stupid question as his legs suddenly remembered how to work and he went running out of the bridge and down the hallways and ladders as fast as he'd ever run in his life. He tripped down a few steps here and there in his haste and twisted his ankle rather painfully once, but hardly noticed.

Dilandau was tumbling like a rag doll out of his guymelef when Folken reached the hanger. He didn't move from how he'd fallen as Folken recklessly tore down to the floor level and across the slick metal panels toward his lifeless form. The hanger attendants were trying to coax him to get up when Folken rushed through them, pushing them carelessly aside.

Dilandau was shaking, his eyes wide open and unfocussed. Folken gathered him up carefully, holding him tightly cradled in his arms. He seemed very small and fragile then. His face was nearly pale enough to match his hair. He stared catatonically ahead, making no sound or movement but for his raspy breathing and shaking, as Folken rocked him slowly back and forth.

Everything that happened was Folken's fault. All of it had happened because he'd let Van escape. Everything. From the fights with Dilandau to this slaughter. It was all because Folken had been so weak.

Because he was always weak.

And Dilandau suffered because of Folken's mistakes and weakness. Folken started sobbing into Dilandau's hair, whispering brokenly to him and wishing desperately for some kind of response. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't-- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He-- I'm sorry.'

'Child molestation in broad daylight and such a public area strikes me a somewhat inappropriate. Wouldn't you agree, _Stratagos?_'

Folken snarled, snapping a vicious glare up to the sneer on Paruchi's face. 'What do _you_ want?' he demanded shortly, tightening his hold on Dilandau.

Paruchi snorted, 'I'll be taking the boy back to the capitol for treetment.'

Folken glared daggers at him and didn't move.

'Oh, by all means, make a fuss,' Paruchi smirked. 'I'd love to see you punished for disobedience.'

'I am not obliged to obey _you_,' Folken hissed.

'Check the books. He is within _my_ control. The general has already agreed that he be returned to the capitol for therapy as well,' Paruchi sniffed in a superior way.

'And what cocktail of _drugs_ would that be?'

'That's not your concern. This matter is not within your influence,' Paruchi smirked in the most sickening, aggravating way. 'The order for his removal from this vessel has been signed and he will be transferred to the capitol immediately.'

'_Why?_'

Paruchi crossed his arms annoyedly, 'You're not that stupid, Folken. You can see as well as I that he is nearly incapacitated by this misfortune.'

'He is in _shock_ and he has every _right_ to be,' Folken growled back defiantly.

'And requires treatment. You have no say in this matter. However much sick pleasure you may have taken in him, he's not yours and you have no control over his fate.' Paruchi smirked again, 'Now, will I have to have you forcibly subdued?'


End file.
